Between the Darkness and the Light
by BlueSaffire
Summary: Contemporary Uncas and Alice story. He is a minor league hockey player-the "enforcer" on his team. She has recently emerged from an abusive relationship and finds it difficult to trust. Will his gentle and easy going nature break through the barriers she has built? (Rated M due to descriptions of abuse and, eventually, love scenes.)
1. Chapter 1

Between the Darkness and the Light

"Nothing is so strong as gentleness;

nothing so gentle as real strength."

Native American Proverb

* * *

PROLOGUE

-Late June—

Allie sat on her couch in a pair of well-worn, softly-faded jeans and a red blouse, feet tucked under her, red flats on the floor. She eyed the man sitting beside her and wondered how she would broach the subject of her new job. He was reading the sports page on his iPad, his cropped blonde hair glinting in the early evening light that filtered through the lace curtains in her living room windows. She took a deep breath and decided to use the direct approach. "I got a job," she stated, but softly, trying to hide the pride and satisfaction she felt accomplishing this small feat on her own, without his help or his knowledge.

"Hmmm?" Stephen replied, distracted.

"I got a job," Allie repeated, "It's just part-time at a preschool in the Old Port."

Stephen looked up at her. "Yeah? You think you're ready for a step like that?"

Maybe this would go better than she'd expected. "I think so," she replied.

He stared at her a moment before saying, "I don't." He toyed with the light brown, almost blonde hair that fell over her shoulder. "Hey," he tilted her chin so she had to look him in the eye, "I don't want you to take on too much too soon."

"It's been over a year," she ventured, "It's time to get my life back on track." She was almost afraid to meet his gaze, but she did. And she could see it there in his eyes already, the beginnings of that change she feared and always tried desperately to prevent.

"What does that mean, 'back on track'?" he asked, air-quoting her phrase.

"I . . . I want to work. I need to be . . . I don't know, useful somehow."

Stephen stiffened. "Useful? What do you think you and I are about? Aren't we 'useful' to each other?" He air-quoted again.

Allie hated when he did that, throwing her words back at her but always with a twist she never intended. She blinked and took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for what might come next.

"You want me gone, is what you really mean," he fingered a strand of her hair again.

"No, Stephen. I never said that,"

"You didn't have to," he twisted the strand around his finger, tugged gently.

She held her breath, and thought about the first time he'd shoved her. Her back had slammed against the bedroom wall. He'd knocked her into a moment of stopped time. She'd never forgotten the twisted look on his face as she'd slid to the floor. Stephen had stared at her a moment then, as if coming back to himself, fell to his knees, clutched her hands and begged her forgiveness. At the time, she'd assumed it was an anomaly, that she'd angered him so much he'd simply reacted without thinking. Though when she tried, she couldn't remember what she'd said or done to provoke him. But it hadn't been an anomaly. Since then, he'd done more than throw her against a wall.

"You want to get rid of me?" Stephen's voice held a slight whine, like a little boy not getting his way.

"No," Allie whispered, "no." He yanked her hair hard and she couldn't stifle a gasp.

"Does that hurt?" he sneered. A smile that did not reach his blue eyes spread across his face. "Does it hurt as much as getting dumped, do you think?"

"I'm not dumping you, Stephen. I just need—"

" _You_ need? What about what _I_ need? Haven't I made it all about you since your parents died?" He cupped her cheek with his other hand. "Maybe it's my turn."

Allie remained silent, unmoving. The gentle touch on her face became a tight grip around her chin and he pulled her face towards him, as if he would kiss her. Her hands rose instinctively and pressed against his broad chest. "Oh Alice," he murmured, "if you only understood how much I love you."

For as long as they'd known each other, he'd never called her "Allie" even though she preferred it. He'd said "Alice" was such a beautifully old-fashioned name—it made him think of a sweet young thing on the frontier hacking out a life beside the man she loved.

As he moved closer, his breath, laced with the scent of the drink he'd had as soon as he'd come home from work, caressed her cheek. The fingers in her hair entangled themselves deeper and pulled hard. The hand on her chin slapped her face. Allie couldn't keep a whimper from escaping or the tears from slipping out. "Aw, no, Alice, don't cry," he whispered, "you know I hate tears."

Allie sniffed, trying to check the flow, silently praying he wouldn't hurt her but knowing her prayers were futile.

Stephen pulled Allie off the couch by her hair. In her struggles to keep up with him, she stumbled and slammed a knee against the glass-topped coffee table. She yelped. He hauled her back against his muscled, perspiring body.

"Shhh," he breathed, "shhh. No tears. Let me see." He twirled her around by her hair to face him. Gently, he brushed the salty drops with his thumb. "I said, no tears," he repeated. He cupped her cheek then slapped it hard again. He yanked her hair and bent her back into a twisted Tango pose. She lost her footing and clutched his forearm to stay upright. It was a testament to his physical strength that he could support her weight while she floundered below him.

"Listen to me," he said between clenched teeth, then sucked in a deep breath. His voice softened and he pleaded, "I love you, Alice. I'm the only one. I know what's best for you."

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, mute, afraid to say anything else; afraid she'd only anger him further.

"Don't look at me like that. Let go," he said. He released her hair and jerked his arm to free himself from her hold. "I said, let go, Alice" he ground out as one by one, he peeled her fingers off his forearm and yanked it back.

Allie's grip slipped and her head, just above her right eye, slammed against a corner of the coffee table. The air rushed out of her lungs as she toppled to the floor. In a deadly calm part of her mind, she thought, "This is how I'll die. And I was so afraid I'd go like Mom and Dad, in a car accident."

"Get up."

When Allie didn't move except to lift a hand to her bleeding forehead, Stephen grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. He gazed at her. "Don't do this to me," he snarled. He shook her like a rag doll. She reached up to touch the cut above her eye again, but Stephen clamped his fingers around her arms and dragged her to the hall. She stumbled along after him, only half aware of what he was doing. The fingers of one hand wrapped around her neck, held her pressed to the wall. He curled his free hand into a fist and struck her stomach, once, twice, three times.

Absurdly, she thought of the lighthouse that stood just outside Portland in Cape Elizabeth. Through the fall and winter, she could see the flashing beacon from the second floor of her home. Once spring arrived and the trees blossomed, her view was obscured. When she was a little girl, almost every Sunday, in any kind of weather, she and her father would take a ride to the lighthouse. They'd walk around it, sometimes climb the stairs within or just find a comfortable spot and sit gazing at it, perched steady and strong on its rocky pedestal, a warning to sailors of treacherous waters. Her father never said much, and neither did she. They'd listen to the bay roar against the rocks, and on misty days, hear the foghorn's cry. Her father used to quiz her on the characteristic of the various lights that dotted the southern coast of Maine. She swore she'd never learn them all. "It's too many, Daddy!" she'd cried.

"As the captain of a ship, you'd have to know the color of each beacon and its pattern. If you were lost in a storm along the coast, navigational equipment not working, that's how you'd know your location," he'd said, a slight burr tingeing his words. Hailing from Scotland, with sailors and military men on his family tree, he'd been a huge fan of old sea tales and the sailors who'd navigated their ships at a time when they relied on their wits and skill to guide them.

They'd reached a compromise and Allie memorized the characteristics up through the tangle of lighthouses around Boothbay Harbor. She'd promised to learn the rest but never had. Maybe now, if she concentrated on those beacons of safety instead of what Stephen was doing to her, she could survive this. And so she began with the southernmost lighthouse in Maine: Whaleback—a white light flashing twice, every ten seconds.

Stephen finally dropped his hand from Allie's neck and stepped back. She fell against him, gasping before tumbling to the floor. Blood pooled by her head, seeped from her mouth.

"Pemaquid Point Light," she thought, "a white light flashing every six seconds." Blackness engulfed her.

* * *

CHAPTER 1

-Late August—

Chris' neighbor stood just inside his front door, her eyes wide.

"No problem," he said, "I'll pick her up at four."

"Are you sure you don't mind? I hate to ask you to do this, but I've got to make up the time I missed when she was sick last week."

"No worries. I'll drop her off at your mother's. I don't mind, eh."

Christopher Uncas Tobias ("Fox" to his teammates), Mohican and Inuit by blood, Canadian by birthplace, had been skating and playing hockey since he could walk. His stick-handling skills were slim, his skating ability adequate, his scoring virtually non-existent, but he could deliver a hard right. His strengths were toughness in the corners, a willingness to put his body on the line by "going to the net," and fighting if necessary. "Fearless" was a word often used by his teammates and coaches when describing his style of play, always willing to come to the defense of smaller, more talented players. The chances of his making it to the National Hockey League were gone. At 25, he was basically a career minor-leaguer, but it was a living. His team, the Portland Blades, usually qualified for the playoffs but rarely made it beyond the first round—at least they hadn't in the five years Chris has been playing for them.

"Thank you so much! I'll call the school and tell them you'll be picking up Jessica. Bring ID. They'll ask for it. Talk to Allie Munro. She's Jessica's teacher. Thanks again, Chris!"

The screen door slammed and Natalie ran across the small lawn to her own house. "What about the boys?" Chris called, referring to her twin sons.

Over her shoulder, Natalie yelled, "They're at a friend's. I'll pick them up tonight after work."

Natalie's husband had left her three months ago for a 23 year old woman. At 43, she was just beginning to pull the pieces of her life back together. She'd been working part-time while searching for a full-time job for a couple of months. Chris tried to help her when he could, like today by picking up 3-year old Jessica from preschool. Sometimes he'd play catch with the kids, or show them street hockey moves.

As he watched Natalie dash into her house, he shrugged and turned back into the small rented house he shared with his teammate and best friend, Evan McMurray.

Chris didn't know the details of Natalie's relationship with her husband, but he felt she deserved better. He'd never thought too much about getting married and having kids beyond assuming that someday he'd do both. Natalie's situation, however, made him think about the kind of husband and father he hoped to be. He never wanted to be the type who'd run off with someone half his age. His parents' marriage was good—they had problems, but were always able to work things out. They never fought in front of him or his sister and brother. He remembered, when he was a kid, occasionally hearing their raised voices after he'd gone to bed, but things always seemed OK in the morning.

His father sometimes had a hard time holding down a job. He was a framer and expected the work to be seasonal, but it seemed as if he was out of work more often than the other guys on the construction crews. Too many people believed that North American Indians were lazy, unreliable drunks. Once in a while, Chris' father had come home from work with bruises across his face. "It's no use trying to prove something someone doesn't want to believe," he'd told Chris, "just be who you are. Never forget your heritage, but be who you are."

And who was he? A minor league hockey player with no talent except for his fists. He'd learned to fight at a young age, like his father, defending himself.

* * *

Allie sat with Jessica in the play area reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar. As they ticked off the items of food the caterpillar ate—"one piece of chocolate cake . . . one ice cream cone . . ." Allie glanced at her watch. Already this guy was 20 minutes late.

When Allie told her that Chris Tobias would be picking her up, Jessica had gushed that he played hockey and was her very favorite player. Allie remained unimpressed. Stephen's favorite sport, after football, was ice hockey. She thought she'd heard the name "Chris Tobias" usually connected with a fight. Allie decided he was probably some big, obnoxious oaf who didn't know anything beyond his sport: "duh . . . yeah, I play hockey."

As Allie and Jessica reached the end of the story, a deep, resonant voice behind them said, "He sure was a very hungry caterpillar."

Allie stood up and whirled around. "May I help you?"

"Chris!" Jessica screeched and ran to the young man standing just beyond the play area. He bent down and caught her in his arms but did not embrace her.

"Wait a minute, Sweet Jess, I'm all dirty. I got a flat tire on the way over. Look," he said and pulled back to show her the dirt on the front of his loose-fitting, short-sleeved, grey t-shirt. Imprinted across the chest was "property of the Portland Blades/XXL."

Allie had not heard him come in. An alarm went off in her head, and as she watched Chris half hug Jessica, she noticed the bulk of his arms. Her face composed, she asked, "You're Chris Tobias? May I see some ID, please? It's our policy."

He stood up and with two fingers pulled a wallet from his back pocket. He flashed a Canadian driver's license. Allie arched one eyebrow and said, "Well, since Jessica vouches for you, I guess I can accept this."

"Hey, you rate around here, Sweet Jess," he joked. He released a dimpled smile, which Allie ignored.

Trying to maintain a formal air, she said, "If you could, please try to be on time when you pick up Jessica. As you can see," she gestured to the empty room, "everyone else has gone home for the day except our Director." She flicked a hand in the general direction of an office nestled in the back corner.

Chris' smile died on his lips. "I'm sorry," he said, "I really did get a flat on the way over. I was about halfway here. Good thing I have a regular tire and not a doughnut for a spare or I would've been even later." He stopped.

"Yeah, good thing," Allie replied. She had taken a close look at him during his brief monologue. He wore a baseball cap backwards. His black hair was tucked behind his ears; it was long enough to brush his shoulders. His brown eyes reminded Allie of rich, dark mahogany. A scar streaked above his left eyebrow and another cut diagonally across his chin. His skin was a shade of burnt sienna. He was tall and broad; the top of Allie's head barely reached his shoulder. And obviously, he could say more than "Duh—yeah, I play hockey." She noticed a grey smudge, like the ones on his shirt, across one prominent cheekbone.

"Are you Allie Munro?"

"This is Ms. Allie," Jessica said, tugging on Chris' finger. "She's my favorite teacher!"

"She'd be my favorite teacher if I was in preschool, too," he quipped, responding to Jessica but staring at Allie.

Allie turned away before he could see the dread that she was sure had crept into her eyes. He was too charming, she thought. She picked up the book she and Jessica had been reading but could not seem to find its place on the shelf.

"Can I wash up before I take Sweet Jess home?" he asked.

Allie looked up and pointed to her left. "Bathroom's down the hall, on the right" she replied.

Chris nodded then sauntered away with a smooth, easy gate that Allie found rather appealing. She mentally shook herself then turned to Jessica, "Let's go get your things, sweetheart."

"OK." They held hands and went over to a lineup of cubbies painted in primary colors.

* * *

When Chris returned, he stood at the threshold of the classroom and watched Ms Allie. She knelt in front of Jessica, keeping up a steady stream of conversation. Her short, dark blonde hair framed her face, emphasizing her large grey eyes. A scar cut through her right eyebrow giving her a slightly worried expression. It looked relatively recent with the pink coloring of new skin. It matched his own scar, though he didn't think his made him look worried—and his was a couple of years old. How had she gotten a cut that would leave such a deep mark? His excuse was hockey. What was hers? She was cute but different than the women he usually dated. Now why had that thought popped into his head? To distract himself, he looked around the room at the construction paper fishes taped to the pale blue walls. An octopus made of purple poster board dangled, eight arms waving, from the ceiling. Sea shells sat on shelves. Picture books with beach themes stood on a table in the center of the room.

As Allie gathered Jessica's things and dropped them into her backpack, Jessica ran up to Chris, grabbed one of his fingers and pulled him towards the wall where the paper fishes hung. "Look, I helped," she burst out and pointed to a yellow fish with "Jessica" printed across it in purple marker. "That's my name!"

Chris squatted, resting on his heels to examine the fish more closely. "It looks great, Sweet Jess."

"Ms Allie wrote my name. Then I hanged it up."

"Isn't yellow your favorite color?"

She nodded. "I can say my ABC's." As she proceeded to sing the alphabet song, Chris never took his eyes from her face.

"That was great! Did Ms. Allie teach you?"

Jessica nodded.

Chris stood up, turned and saw surprise mixed with skepticism on Allie's face. They stared at one another for a moment. "I play hockey," Chris said to break the silence.

Immediately, Allie's expression changed to what Chris thought might be wariness. "Jessica mentioned it."

"Ever watch the games?"

"No." Allie turned away.

The smile fled from Chris's face. That hockey line usually got a woman's attention; this woman didn't seem to give a damn. Was she that pissed because he'd been late or did she just not like him? Or maybe she had a boyfriend. He shook his head, again wondering why his thoughts were running along those lines. Suddenly, he needed to be away from her. "Ready to go, Sweet Jess? I'm sure Ms Allie wants to get home. Thanks for waiting with her," he tossed the words over his shoulder. Before Allie could reply, Chris and Jessica were out the door with Jessica calling, "Bye, Ms. Allie!"

"Bye, Sw . . . Jessica," Allie called back.

* * *

Allie wandered around the first floor of her house, straightening things up while singing "Sweet Jane . . ." in her loudest alto voice. She remembered her parents had a Lou Reed CD in their collection and dropped it into their old player.

Christopher Uncas Tobias popped into her head. She wasn't sure why, except that he was not what she had expected. Something about him, something Allie could not pin point, attracted her in a small way. Silly really. The guy probably had women falling all over him. But he had been so attentive to Jessica. She thought about that disarming smile of his, which almost forced one to smile in return. His voice was as deep and dark as his eyes. But she had learned to look beyond the superficial—beyond a pair of devastating eyes or a charming smile or even a promise to protect and take care of her—to what might be buried inside. She had sworn never to allow herself to be hurt—not in mind, nor in body—the way Stephen had hurt her.

* * *

Lately, whenever Chris saw Sweet Jess, usually dangling a book in her hand, he thought of Allie. When Jessica would ask Chris to read to her, he usually did, but if he didn't have time, she'd say, "But Ms. Allie always does."

"You like Ms. Allie a lot, don't you?" he asked one day.

"Yeah. She reads to me. But she's sad."

"Why is she sad?"

Jessica shrugged, "I don't know. She just is. Read to me, Chris."

So they sat on the steps in front of Natalie's house and read a story called, Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. And Chris wondered why Ms. Allie was sad.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I started writing this story way back in the 90s. I let it go for several years and sort of gave up on it. But then I started reading LOTM FF. Made me realize that although the original characters were not based on Uncas and Alice they could have been. Thankfully, my writing has improved over the past 25 years or so! So while I am rewriting much of the original story it's not where I'd like it to be; I think I can do better. So I am asking for reviews/critiques from you wonderful LOTM readers—I think your input will really help me bring this story to where I think it should be.

I also have a song list that used to play in my head when I first started writing this. As you might guess, most of the songs are from the 90s, so I hope you don't mind traveling back in time a bit!

I don't own The Last of the Mohicans movie or any of its characters. I don't own The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle and Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus by Mo Willems—but they are wonderful books to share with children!

Playlist for Prologue and Chapter 1 all of which I do not own the rights to:

"Touch, Peel and Stand" by Days of the New – Stephen's theme (Prologue)

"Thanksgiving" by George Winston – Allie's theme

"Snow on High Ground" by Nightnoise – Chris' theme (especially as the story progresses)

"Sweet Jane" - Lou Reed


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

-October—

As fall arrived in all its brilliance, the Blades took to the ice. Since she'd met Chris, Allie had become a bit more aware of the team—when they were in town verses when they were on the road. Not that she'd watched any games, but in the back of her mind, she knew when Chris might potentially pick up Sweet Jess. And yes, she'd taken to thinking of Jessica as "Sweet Jess." She told herself it was because it fit her personality, not because a certain hockey player had given her the nickname.

They'd met a few more times at the school. Recently, he'd arrived sporting a black eye. When Allie asked how he'd gotten it, he told her about the fight he'd had with one of the league's tougher guys. She shivered and shook her head. "It's no big deal," he shrugged, "and if you think I look bad, you should see the guy I fought. He's minus a tooth."

The following week, they met by chance in town. "Hey, Allie! Hi," Chris greeted as she came out of a bookstore.

"Hi, Chris. How are you? Not playing today?" she asked. His black hair hung loose and she noticed how silky it looked. She curled her fingers, pressing her nails into her palms to stifle the urge to reach out and touch the inky strands. Her eyes strayed to his lips, their fullness emphasized by a light dusting of stubble. He'd always been clean shaven when he'd come to pick up Jessica.

"Nope. We practiced this morning and have a game tomorrow. I was just doing some errands. How about you? Off today?"

"Yes," she forced her recalcitrant eyes to look away from those lips and up into his chocolate brown eyes. That might have been a mistake; his gaze held such intensity she felt the urge to back away, but didn't. Instead, she replied, "We've been short-staffed and I pulled a few 10-hour days, so my director gave me the day off."

"Great! I mean, not great that you're working 10-hour days, but at least you have a day off," Chris paused, grinned, tilted his head. "Did you eat lunch, yet?" he asked.

"Um . . . no."

"Me neither. How about it? My treat." When Allie hesitated, Chris leaned towards her and murmured, "I'll be on my best behavior. I promise, I won't hit you, not even once." He was still flashing his charming smile.

Allie's body turned rigid. "No. No, I can't," she mumbled and backed away. She heard Chris say her name. She shook her head. "No," she said simply.

"Allie," he said, "I was just kidding. You know, when I play—"

"No," she cut him off, turned and walked away.

* * *

He stood staring after her, his brows drawn together, a frown marring his dark features. As he watched her, Chris shook his head, wondering why he even bothered. "Give it up, Fox. She's not interested in you," he admonished himself silently. But he swore he saw something in her big, grey eyes, something he thought might be a tiny bit of curiosity. Then he watched them turn dark as a storm cloud when she refused his offer of lunch. Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he headed in the opposite direction towards his pick-up truck.

* * *

That afternoon, Allie sat on her couch, a mug of hot coffee held in her trembling hands. "I promise I won't hit you." The phrase echoed in her mind. How many times had Stephen uttered those very words, then a week, a day, even an hour later, gone back on that promise? She told herself that Chris was not Stephen. But what if he was just like him? She'd misjudged Stephen; what if she did the same with Chris? When he talked about his fights, his deep, velvet voice sounded so serene that Allie wondered about his casual attitude towards the violence of his sport. The violence in which he himself participated. It was almost a joke to him. And when he spoke in such a calm, lighthearted way, well, that scared the hell out of her.

She touched the scar that slashed through her eyebrow, a reminder of the last time Stephen had touched her. Her stomach roiled with the memories, memories she thought she'd dealt with during her "night of truth," as she called it, when she lay in the hospital bed after Stephen had left her in a daze at the bottom of the stairs in her foyer almost four months ago.

When she'd come-to, he was gone. She'd crawled to the phone and dialed 911. Turned out she had three broken and two cracked ribs, several bruises and contusions and a mild concussion; the cut across her eyebrow required six stitches. When asked what had happened, she said she'd fallen down the steps.

Finally alone in her room, she began to review the events of her entire year with Stephen, forcing herself to remember every detail of their time together.

They'd met in this very hospital when her parents were in a terrible car accident. Her father lingered for a week, her mother for two more. During that time, Allie had made friends with two wonderful nurses, Cora on night shift and Stephen on day shift. Allie had few relatives and no siblings, so when her parents died, the thought of doing everything, of going through this alone, frightened her, left her feeling weak and helpless, whirling in a strange state of reality where everything seemed off kilter. Stephen offered to help and ended up organizing the funeral arrangements. He'd taken over when she'd felt too devastated to go on. Cora had been there, as well, always offering support and a shoulder to cry on, a place to stay when she couldn't face being home alone.

Using money from her parents' life insurance policy, Allie paid off the house. With only two semesters remaining to earn her teaching degree she could have gone back to college. But Stephen talked her out of it, suggesting she wait until she was emotionally ready to take on the load of classes again. She took his advice, not trusting her own judgment after so much loss.

Initially, she welcomed Stephen's support and protection against a world that suddenly seemed overwhelming and scarier than ever; a world she was not yet ready to face. But as time went on and she began to heal from the shock and devastation of losing her parents, she realized that his support was turning into something else. It was little things at first. When Allie made a suggestion to go somewhere or do something, Stephen found fault with it. She was so unsure of herself and still reeling a bit that she didn't think to question him. But as her mind cleared and her confidence increased, so did his aggression. It started with the pushing incident. Once, he grabbed her arms, squeezing hard enough to leave finger marks. Another time, in his car, he backhanded her across the mouth, drawing blood. He'd always apologize, telling her she just made him so angry he couldn't help it—if only she wouldn't provoke him. It was something to which she was unaccustomed; her parents had never even swatted her backside.

Beyond the physical hurt, he did his best to rein her in. If she tried to make plans with Cora or another friend, Stephen made excuses for her not to go or told her she was being selfish and not considering his needs. He began spending almost all his free time with her. She couldn't do anything without his knowledge or approval, and she began to feel trapped. Things went on like this for a few months until today when she'd told him about the job at the preschool and he'd lost it—hurting her worse than he'd ever done before.

The next morning, Cora whirled into the room like a minor hurricane, tendrils of chestnut curls falling out of her chignon and framing her heart shaped face. "Allie, honey, what happened?" she asked, taking Allie's hand in her own.

"I fell down the steps," Allie replied, not sure she was ready to share this with anyone just yet. She could not meet Cora's steady gaze.

As Cora's eyes roamed Allie's face, she said, "Tell me what really happened."

Allie's eyes filled with tears. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen you for awhile, but I know you've been with Stephen."

Allie hesitated, swallowed hard. "So?" she whispered, still trying to resist spilling her guts.

"Did he do this to you?"

"Why would you think that?"

"The last time I saw you, couple of months ago, when we finally got together for lunch, I noticed bruises on your wrist, like finger marks. I didn't say anything because I was hoping you would. And I wasn't absolutely certain then."

Allie closed her eyes as the tears escaped and slid down her cheeks.

"Tell me."

Allie shook her head, "you'll have to report it."

Cora squeezed Allie's hand, "Allie, I'm not speaking to you as a nurse, but as your friend. I won't report it if you don't want me to. Tell me what happened and let me help you. You're not alone," she added when Allie still hesitated.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Allie recounted as much as she could remember from the day before.

"Bastard!" Cora spat, "he needs to be out of your life."

"I don't know what to do. He gets so angry. How can I tell him I don't want to be with him without him going crazy?"

"I'll help you. We'll get a restraining order. You can stay with me for a while, until things settle down."

"I don't want to put you in danger. He's . . . I don't know, he's like a different person when he gets into his rages. He used to be so sweet and caring. But he changed, Cora. He's . . ." she broke off, unable to go on.

"I'll help you," Cora repeated. "We'll get through this. OK? You rest. I'll take you home when they release you. You can pack some things and stay with me."

The following day, true to her word, Cora drove Allie home. When they arrived, Stephen was there, waiting. Bounding into the foyer, he looked startled and asked, "Jesus, what happened, Alice? Where've you been?"

Allie, eyes wide, shrank back against the door. She was so not ready to face him right now. God, she felt so weak, so vulnerable.

"Get the hell out of here or I'll call the police," Cora snapped.

"Why?" Stephen asked, confusion clearly written across his handsome features.

"I know what you did to her. She doesn't want to see you again."

Stephen turned to Allie. "Sweetheart, come on, you know me. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just upset about you getting that job without telling me. I want to take care of you, provide for you. Is that so bad? It won't happen again, I swear." He tried to take her hand but Cora stepped between them.

"Get out."

"I want to hear Alice tell me to leave. I want to hear it from her." He brushed Cora aside. "Alice."

Without meeting his eyes, Allie whispered, "Please leave, Stephen. I don't want to see you anymore."

"Alice, sweetheart," Stephen said in a husky voice. He pressed himself lightly against Allie's body, touched her upper arms with his fingertips. She shrank further against the doorframe.

Cora grabbed his shoulder, "You heard her. Get out!"

Without taking his eyes off Allie, he shoved his arm up and out, just missing Cora's head with his elbow. "Hey!" she yelled as she ducked away. He swiveled to face her. Challenge her. Cora straightened and stared right back at him.

"Stephen, please. Just go," Allie begged.

He pivoted, leaned down so that his face was inches from hers. "This isn't over," he growled. She turned her head from the blazing anger in his eyes. He slammed out the door.

"Now we change your locks and your phone number. You're coming home with me for a few nights. And you really need to get a restraining order," Cora said.

As Stephen stormed down the walkway and into his car, Allie watched him. A pang of regret stabbed her. She wondered if she could have done something differently, behaved differently so that she wouldn't have angered him so often.

Cora looked at Allie, "Don't do it to yourself." When Allie didn't respond, Cora touched her shoulder, "Allie."

Allie turned, "I know. It's just—"

"Don't even think about him. He's a piece of shit. But I think that may be disparaging shit."

Allie smiled-Cora could always make her smile.

That had been the last time she'd seen Stephen. After she got rid of her landline and obtained a new cell phone number, which she shared only with Cora, two other friends, and her director, she cut her long blonde hair short. She hadn't had short hair since she was a preteen. It felt liberating to rid herself of something that had been such a part of her identity-until Stephen had used it as a weapon against her. When he started messaging her through social media and sending her emails, she deactivated her account and changed her email address. Still, every time she turned on her computer, her stomach churned with the thought that he somehow may have found her online. She'd held off on the restraining order—he hadn't come to her house since she'd asked him to leave. She had gotten into the habit of looking around for his car whenever she stepped outside. While she and Cora hung out more, Cora's nursing schedule and Allie's work schedule often clashed so they didn't get together as often as she'd have liked. But she reminded herself that she had to learn to stand on her own, like a newborn colt, no matter how unsteady her stance.

She slid off the couch and padded to the kitchen, the empty coffee mug gripped in her hand. She stared out the window above her sink. The swath of yellow and red leaves adorning the trees in her backyard reminded her of how beautiful the world could be. How beautiful it had been for her before her parents died; before Stephen had come into her life. Would her fears ever subside? Would her life ever be as it had been? She knew the answer to that last question was a resounding "no." She hadn't completely learned to get along without her parents, not with Stephen in the picture. She'd grieved, but never really faced the fact that she was, essentially, alone in the world.

While she couldn't have managed leaving Stephen without Cora's support, she needed to move forward, accept her life as it was right now. Her job at the preschool had become full-time when one of the Assistant Teachers left. Maybe she could go back to school, at least part-time, and finish her degree. She sucked in a breath—was she ready for that yet?

Damn this fear that seemed to constantly engulf her—sometimes she could let it go. But then, occasionally, anger coiled inside her, erupting like a small volcano—it never lasted but always surprised her. She felt it bubbling up once again for all she had lost, all she had endured. Her grip on the mug tightened and she slammed it down into the porcelain sink. It broke into several pieces in her hand. She dropped it as blood seeped from tiny cuts in her palm and fingers. "Damn!" She turned on the faucet, holding her hands under the cool running water for a few minutes then used a dish towel to dry them and soak up any lingering drops of blood. "Damn and damn!" she whispered again, pressing her lips together into a thin line. "Lots of shit to clean up," she muttered. Clearly, she was not ready for any kind of relationship with a man right now-even the charming, soft spoken Christopher Uncas Tobias.

A small smile crept across her face when she realized the mug she'd smashed was one Stephen had given her, "ALICE" printed in garish, red, Gothic letters around it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** First, a HUGE "thank you!" to BrynnaRaven who was my beta reader for this chapter. I could not have written this without her input! I also want to thank all of you who have read, favored, followed and/or reviewed and are finding this contemporary version of Chris/Uncas and Allie/Alice interesting. Even though I am doing more rewriting than I expected of my original version, I am getting a little excited about where it may go. And please, call me out on anything that doesn't sound authentic or could be better written.

For all you Cora and Nathaniel fans—those two did not originally play a role in this story, but while the character of Cora was, in my original version, based on my oldest friend in the world (who is also a nurse), I realized that my friend is a lot like Cora—so Cora is here. And Nathaniel, well, he was like, "Hey, I want in!" You know how stubborn and pushy he can be (in a good way, of course!). So you will meet him in Chapter 3.

Song for Allie in this chapter: "Footsteps" by Pearl Jam (which I do not own, but damn, it's a great song!)

Thank you all for your encouragement and support!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

-Late November—

A light snow had been falling for about a half hour when Allie emerged from the café. She hadn't meant to stay so long—it was just past noon—but the warmth, and the smell of cinnamon buns and blueberry muffins had kept her there, despite the large Thanksgiving meal she'd shared with Cora and her boyfriend and father the day before. Cora continued to be a support for Allie after they'd confronted Stephen, always checking on her, inviting her to get-togethers with friends. This was Allie's second Thanksgiving without her parents. Last year, Stephen had insisted she shouldn't be alone and spent the entire long weekend with her. That was the first time he'd physically harmed her—that shove against the bedroom wall.

Cora's mother had died when she was quite young. Consequently, she was an only child—something she and Allie had in common. That's pretty much where the commonalities ended, at least in Allie's mind. Ed, Cora's father, a retired military officer living in the Santa Fe area, was staying with her for a week-long visit. Allie found she enjoyed his company—he seemed to be a fair, if tough man, but always ready with a joke. After scrutinizing her as if she were a new recruit, his face cracked into a rather dazzling smile—she could see now where Cora got hers. "Well aren't you a pretty one!" he exclaimed. Allie blushed furiously and he added, "And humble, too." Before the day was half over, he took to calling her "Cora's little sister" and said he'd unofficially adopted her.

Allie had only met Cora's boyfriend, Nathaniel, a couple of times. She couldn't quite read him and wasn't sure how much he knew about her relationship with Stephen. The day Cora had driven her home from the hospital, she'd offered to have Nathaniel accompany them, but Allie had pleaded with her not to tell him about her situation. He exuded an air of supreme confidence which intimidated her a little. The idea that he might know about this humiliating aspect of her life kept her reticent around him. Still, he'd offered her a friendly hug. He had a great smile and sparkling green eyes that seemed to hold a glint of amusement within. As Allie observed them together, she envied the ease between he and Cora; they seemed perfectly suited. And it was obvious that Cora's father adored him—the constant banter between them spoke volumes.

Allie was surprised to discover that Nathaniel was a scout for the Portland Blades NHL affiliate. His territory was northeastern U.S. and the Canadian province of Quebec. She wondered if he knew Chris. She decided not to ask; no reason to go there when there was no "there."

While she enjoyed being with them, their warmth and friendliness wrapping around her like a favorite blanket, once she got back to her own house, a deep sense of loneliness and longing plagued her.

But today, she had decided she would enjoy her day off; she wouldn't get another one before the end of the year. She'd been shopping for gifts for the children—mostly books. She carried two bags in each hand. They bumped her legs as she walked. Allie loved to be out on these brisk, snowy days. People bustled about, as they always did the Friday after Thanksgiving. Enough snow had fallen to coat the ground, enough to make the sidewalks treacherous.

"Alice."

The voice startled her. She whipped around and looked into a pair of ice blue eyes before she found herself on the ground, her shopping bags scattered around her. Stephen stood watching as she picked herself up, gathered her packages and backed away.

"Don't make a scene, Alice. I'll help you."

She could not bring herself to say his name. "I don't want your help." She turned, slid, but held her balance. The hand that gripped her arm felt like a vice. "Let me go," she whispered.

"I'm just being friendly. Got a problem with that?"

She looked up at him. The coldness in his remote blue eyes still had the power to frighten her but she put on a brave face, saying, "You're not a part of my life anymore."

"Oh, but I am," he stated in a deadly calm voice, "and I always will be." He smiled but it was not a pleasant sight; his eyes said something else entirely.

A few pedestrians shot them curious looks as they passed. "Let me go. Please," Allie murmured again, yanking her arm. His fingers held tight, slid down to grip her wrist, thumb tugging the delicate skin. He pulled her towards him, their bodies nearly colliding. But Allie resisted and wrenched her arm once more. Stephen unexpectedly let go, causing her to stumble. But again, she held her balance, turned and strode away, hoping he would not follow. Hoping she'd get lost among the holiday shoppers. Mindlessly, she walked and walked with no set destination except to put as much distance as possible between herself and Stephen. She didn't dare look back; she kept her head up like she knew exactly where she was going. When she finally worked up the courage to turn around, she saw that he hadn't trailed her. The snow began falling harder and the wind kicked up. She stood, biting her bottom lip.

"Hey, Allie! What're you doing around here?"

Allie jerked her head up and watched Chris cross the street to her.

"Come to watch me practice? You just missed it," he said, smiling.

"What?" Allie asked, confused. Then she noticed The Cross Insurance Arena, home to the Blades, across the street.

As Chris reached her side, he said, "What'd you do to your lip? It's bleeding." He touched a finger to her cheek.

Allie shuddered. "The cold chaps my lips," she replied.

Chris' hand fell to his side. "Where're you parked?" he asked in a flat voice.

Allie hesitated before replying, unsure of how much to say. Finally, she admitted, "I didn't drive."

"You need a ride home?"

"No, thanks. It's a good day to walk." With that, she turned away and left Chris standing in the falling snow.

Tears pricked her eyes. How was she going to get home? It would take at least an hour of walking. And she would not turn back and face Chris again. She continued on in the wrong direction. Maybe she could get an Uber. Damn Stephen. She'd hoped he was gone from her life, but she should have known it wouldn't be that easy. The sidewalk seemed to disappear in a blur of salty droplets and she found herself, once again, on the cold, snowy ground. She bent her head and let the tears flow. For the second time that day, she felt her arm grasped, but this grip felt warm, comforting.

"Allie, you OK?" Chris was kneeling beside her, gently taking hold of her arms, saying, "Allie. Allie, you alright?"

"Please. Not again," she murmured.

"Let me help you." He tilted her chin up. "C'mon, Allie, let me help," he repeated.

She gazed up at him, tears trickling down her cheeks. His eyes were soft with concern, dark and warm as earth after a summer rainfall, not remote like a blue sky. She nodded.

Chris helped her rise then gathered her bags. "Wait here. I'll get my truck, OK?" She nodded again. He went slipping and sliding across the street as if he wore ice skates.

In the cab of Chris' old pickup Allie wiped the tears from her face and sat close to the passenger side door, holding herself as still as she could. Bad enough Chris had seen her crying her eyes out, but what the fuck was she thinking to let him drive her home? She tried hard not to draw his attention, kept her eyes on the road, her mouth shut, and her hands folded in her lap.

He turned on the radio. It was tuned to a station that played 80s and 90s music—Chris Cornell's amazing voice crooned, "Say Hello 2 Heaven." Allie shivered, her fingers tightening around her hands, turning the knuckles of her already cold fingers white.

"You cold?" Chris asked, "It takes a while for the heat to really start humming. It's an old truck, so it has to warm up—"

"I'm fine."

He turned to her, hesitated, then asked, "So, where to?"

"Huh?"

"Where do you live?"

Jesus, her mind was in a whirl. Of course he'd have to know where she lived to drive her home. Damn and damn and damn. She gave him an address one block down and around the corner from her house. "You know where that is?"

"Yeah," Chris nodded as he pulled away from the curb. He asked why she'd been in town, what she'd bought.

Inwardly, she sighed. She wasn't in the mood for small talk, but she realized he was trying to make her feel more at ease. She answered his questions as briefly as she could. To do her part, she asked, "You didn't go home for Thanksgiving?"

"We have home games too close to Thursday. Besides, it's not really my favorite holiday of the year, you know? My family barely even celebrates Canadian Thanksgiving—we just use it as an excuse to get together."

She glanced at him, surprised at the depth of his feelings. She wanted to ask him to elaborate but felt it was too personal, and one thing she wanted to avoid with Chris Tobias was anything too personal. He'd already seen more of her than almost anyone she knew. Except for Cora and Stephen, no other friends, acquaintances or co-workers had seen her breakdown like she had today. Now her goal was to get home as quickly as possible with no complications, no other incidents.

She heard Chris take a deep breath before he spoke his next words. "Look, I know you don't like me much—"

"Why do you say that?" she cut in, surprised at his directness.

Chris half grinned, shook his head then said, "Well, it's not that hard to read those 'stay away from me' signals you keep firing at me." He glanced at her so quickly she couldn't read his expression. "So, what is it, eh? You don't like hockey so you don't like me? You just don't like me? You have a boyfriend who'll kick my ass?"

She blinked, "I'm . . ." what could she say? He was at least partially right. She was too afraid to get close to anyone right now, especially a man. But maybe, if she let him in just a tiny bit, enough so that he might understand without knowing everything . . . "my parents died about a year and a half ago and I'm . . . um . . . still kind of dealing."

"Shit. I'm sorry, Allie. Both of them?"

"Yeah. Car accident."

"Fuck," he said so quietly she had to strain to hear the low tone of his voice. "Holidays are tough, eh?"

"Yeah," she exhaled and risked a glance at him. He looked back at her, his eyes serious, sober. In all the times she'd chatted with him, she'd never seen this particular look until today when he'd helped her up off the sidewalk and again right now. Those damn eyes—she could drown in their depths— they were so inviting and, unexpectedly, perhaps safe. A safe harbor. Mentally, she shook herself. "Get over it, Allie. You don't really know him. You thought you knew Stephen and look what happened," she admonished herself.

Chris stuttered a bit as he asked, "You . . . you weren't . . . "

"I was at school when it happened, just finishing up my junior year."

"Christ. I'm really sorry," he repeated.

She nodded and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She could see his lips moving silently, as if he was admonishing himself. She thought about what her life might have been like had her parents not died. She would have finished college; she might never have met Stephen. And maybe, Chris would have glided into her life like a smooth skating left winger. She looked down at her fists clenched in her lap. Maybe she wouldn't feel so alone. Slowly, she loosened her fingers one by one, took a deep breath and settled more comfortably in the seat. "Thank you," she breathed.

After another moment, Chris asked, "Hey, how about if we stop for a cup of coffee or something? You're still shivering."

Why was he being so damn nice? What did he want from her? She hesitated. They'd be in a public place; maybe it would be OK. She was still a little shaken after seeing Stephen and if she did go right home, what then? Sit around and brood about Stephen? Maybe the real question was: what did _she_ want?

"Listen," Chris broke into her thoughts, "forget I asked. I mean, you probably just want to get home right? And you have that boyfriend of yours waiting there to kick my butt if he finds out I even gave you a ride."

She looked at him, really looked at him. Her eyes followed the lines of his straight nose, high, sharp cheekbones, black hair parted naturally down the middle and hanging just past his shoulders. She could see the muscle in his jaw shifting, as if he was clenching his teeth, but he didn't seem angry, only . . . was that disappointment she saw on his face? "Won't your girlfriend be mad?" she countered because she realized she had no clue if he was seeing someone or not. She didn't want to cause any kind of pain for another woman and surely didn't want to get tangled up in another difficult situation. She had enough problems without adding to them.

"Well, I'm between girlfriends right now," he replied straight-faced then broke out into a grin. "Seriously, Allie. I'm not seeing anyone. You?"

"No."

"No boyfriend waiting to kick my ass?"

She shook her head, thinking, "I hope not." The silence was overwhelming as it grew. Finally, Allie murmured, "I . . . I think I'd like that cup of coffee," and hoped she wasn't making a huge mistake.

His eyebrows shot up, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied and allowed herself a small smile at the shocked expression on his face.

He grinned. "Becky's OK?"

"Sure."

* * *

The low-backed booths at Becky's Diner didn't offer much privacy but Allie appreciated being out in the open. Since it was mid-afternoon, they didn't have the usual wait at this popular Portland diner; it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. The booth they occupied was situated between a window and the long counter, leaving a fairly tight aisle. Chris ordered the Hobson's Wharf Special. At Allie's raised eyebrows, he said, "Hey, I didn't have lunch yet!" Allie kept it simple with a buttered English Muffin. She noticed the young, cute waitress leaned slightly towards Chris as she wrote their orders on a pad. He looked right into her eyes and smiled. When the waitress smiled back, Allie felt an unexpected pang that confused her. She had no claims on Chris, so why this tight feeling in her chest?

After pouring them each a cup of hot coffee, the waitress left to place their food order. A young man nearby slid off his stool and came towards them. "Tobias, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Chris replied.

"You got a hard right, man!" He stuck his hand out.

Chris smiled, extended his own right hand and they shook. "Thanks."

"Good luck with the rest of the season!" He nodded at Allie before heading out.

Allie stared at Chris' right hand—it was a beautiful hand, the fingers long and tapered, the palm square, strong. And quite capable, she was sure, of delivering that hard right. Her own right hand wrapped around her mug. "Shit, shit, shit," she thought, "What the hell am I doing here?" Her fingers tightened.

"Still cold?" Chris asked as he reached across the table to touch her fingers. She jerked her arm. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug, splattered on the table and across her hand. She instinctively dodged to her right to avoid what was going to be a major mess and elbowed the waitress returning with their order. While the waitress saved Chris' dish, piled high with pancakes, eggs, sausage, and homefries, the muffins sailed through the air and landed on the other side of the counter. Allie turned, looked up at the young woman. She could feel the red heating her face as she cried, "Oh, damn! I'm so sorry!"

The waitress placed Chris' order on the table in front of him then stepped to his side of the booth, effectively blocking him in. "I'll get you another order of muffins, ma'me. Here," she handed Allie a small towel that was hanging from her apron strings. "More coffee?" she asked looking at Chris. He nodded and she sauntered away.

Allie avoided Chris' eyes as she busied herself wiping up the spill. The entire incident had happened in a matter of seconds but he'd been remarkably silent the whole time. Slowly, she raised her eyes, expecting to see anger bursting out of him. Tensing, she prepared herself for some kind of reprimand.

Chris sat with an elbow on the table, chin in his hand. "That's two minutes for elbowing. What a wicked move. You sure you don't play hockey?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "I'm really sorry. This has not been my day." She could feel tears gathering and she closed her eyes.

"Hey. It's OK, Allie. It really was a great move! You'd be fierce in the corners."

She opened her eyes, held her tears at bay—she did not want to cry in front of him again. He was smiling and she realized she liked the faint dimples that creased his cheeks. She offered him a half-hearted smile. His retaliation could come later—maybe on the drive home. Stephen would get so angry when he felt she'd embarrassed him somehow. She would have to keep her guard up.

The waitress returned and plopped Allie's order in front of her, poured more coffee into their mugs and asked, eyes riveted on Chris, "Anything else I can get you?"

"We're good, thanks," he replied, glancing briefly up at her before picking up his fork and digging into his meal. As Allie opened her mouth to thank her, the waitress flitted away, looking back once at Chris.

"You're a popular guy around here."

He smiled around a mouthful of pancakes. Allie thought he'd get permanent laugh lines sooner than most people.

She pushed the muffin around her plate.

"You planning on eating that or playing with it?" Chris broke the silence that had settled over them.

"Playing," she replied with a straight face then looked up at him. Damn that grin! How could she not respond in kind?

"Didn't your mother teach you not to play with your food?" Chris laughed, then sobered almost immediately, "I'm sorry, Allie. I didn't mean—"

"It's OK, Chris. I'm . . . it's OK." His eyes were so intense, held such sincerity. Damn but she could fall so hard right now. She blinked and cleared her throat. "So, why do you play hockey?" she ventured, trying to move the focus away from herself.

"Not much else I was interested in and not much else I was good at," he replied. "Where I grew up and really, a lot of places in Canada, it's THE thing to do—any time of year. And there's nothing like skating outdoors early in the morning before school, sun just coming up, cold enough to freeze your . . . well, damn cold," he amended. "Or on a Sunday afternoon before the school week started again, all the kids in the neighborhood, guys and girls, would get together and skate on the frozen pond. You feel kind of free, you know? It's different than playing pro, even at my level. You do it because you love it, not for the paycheck or the attention. It's just, I don't know, it's what I love to do, even though I had to go so far from home to do it."

Allie had been staring at him as he described this idyllic scene, his eyes shining—she never realized brown eyes could sparkle like that. "Where does your family live?"

"Outside of Kamloops."

Allie tilted her head, "Where's that?"

"BC."

She shook her head in confusion.

"British Columbia. About 3 and a half hours northeast of Vancouver."

"Wow, you are far from home."

"Yeah. I usually only get back once a year, right after the season ends and before I start my summer job. It's expensive to fly and a long trip."

"Summer job?"

"I load UPS trucks at night. So next time you get a UPS delivery, you'll know who put that box on the truck for you!"

She laughed then asked, "You don't want to spend your summers back home?"

"I love my family, believe me! They are everything to me. But I really like Portland. And I could be traded anytime, so I want to make the most of my time here. And between the UPS work and the Blades, I make an OK living."

"Does it bother you that you could be traded?"

"I don't spend a lot of time worrying about it since you never know when it might happen. I just take each day as it comes, work as hard as I can at practice. Play as hard as I can in games. You know, give it 110% all the time. Even though I won't ever make it to the big leagues, I like what I do—wouldn't 'trade' it for anything!" he winked.

Allie didn't know what to say to this speech; she was impressed with his dedication. "Why do you say you'll never make it to the 'big leagues?'" she asked.

"I'm too old."

"How old are you? If you don't mind my asking."

"25."

"That's not old," Allie exclaimed, "I'm 23 myself."

"For hockey, that's getting up there. Teams are drafting guys 19, 20 years old. By the time they're 25, 26, they're usually just hitting their prime."

"Really?" was all Allie could think to say. Did it bother him that he hadn't been called up by the pro team?

"I don't mind," he said, seeming to read her thoughts, "I get to do something I love and get paid for it."

She nodded as she bit into her muffin.

"You said your parents died at the end of your junior year. Ever go back?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I . . . um . . . the time just hasn't really been right, I guess."

"Yeah. Losing both your parents. That's a tough thing."

She lowered her eyes, nodded.

"I keep fucking up, don't I?" he asked.

"Huh?" she looked up at him.

"You clam up every time I mention your parents. I mean, I completely understand if you don't want to talk about them or what happened. I just kind of wonder how you got through it, you know? I still have both my parents, my siblings. It's hard for me to imagine what you've had to deal with."

He didn't know the half of it, she thought to herself. And he never would if she could help it. "I'm still dealing. Holidays are a little rough."

"Is that why you were crying earlier?"

He'd given her an out. "Yeah. That's why."

"No siblings?" he asked.

"I'm an only child; not many relatives, so—"

"You're alone, eh?" It was a question.

She blinked up at him. "Of course not," she stated, "I have friends."

The waitress reappeared. "How is everything?" Again, she barely looked at Allie, giving most of her attention to Chris.

"Fine, thanks," Chris replied, but kept his eyes on Allie.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"I'm good. Allie?"

She shook her head. Why bother speaking when it was clear that the waitress wouldn't really hear her anyway? Not that she could blame her; Chris was really a great looking guy in that dark, brooding sort of way. But he had that secret weapon—his smile—that could knock your socks off. And so far, he was nicer, smarter, and more complex than she'd expected. The short encounters at the preschool had only given her small glimpses of his personality. When the waitress departed, she asked, "How about you?"

"How about me, what?" he replied.

"I mean . . ." Allie hesitated; maybe she was being too nosy.

Chris must have guessed what she was thinking because he said, "Like I said, still have both my parents. I have an older brother and a younger sister. No incredible hardships in my childhood. Well, nothing too out of the ordinary for someone like me."

"Someone like you?" Allie echoed.

"Being Indian."

"How does Canada treat Indians? I mean, here, I feel like they get the short end of the stick too often."

"Not much different in Canada. A lot of shit goes on up there, too." Chris laid his fork in his empty plate. "But my parents, they made it good for us. As good as they could. My dad works in construction and sometimes, at least when I was a kid, there would be weeks when he was out of work. But my mom, she held everything together. School could be tough," he propped his elbows on the table, folded his hands and slowly ran the backs of his thumbs across his lips, as if trying to keep something in. He said nothing more.

A look had come into his eyes that Allie had never seen—troubled, distant. To her it was a clear warning. She folded her hands in her lap and murmured an apology.

Chris blinked, "Nothing for you to be sorry about. My mind was just . . . wandering," he finished.

Allie glanced at her watch. "It's getting late, Chris, I should get home."

"Sure. I'll get the check." He slid out from the booth and strolled over to the counter where their waitress was refilling a coffee pot.

Allie watched the girl's face light up. "He is charming," she thought to herself, "maybe too charming."

"Ready?" Chris asked as he approached.

"How much do I owe you?"

"It's on me. Thanks for coming out so I could eat. I'm always hungry after a good, long practice." As she opened her mouth to protest, he added with a grin, "Just say 'thank you,' Allie."

"Thank you, Allie," she repeated.

"Smart ass," he murmured, his head tilted towards her ear.

Her smile was involuntary and it surprised her.

The snow had stopped falling when they arrived at the address Allie had given Chris. She hesitated before reaching for the door handle. "Thanks for driving me home. And for the snack."

"No problem."

She unlatched the door. Before getting out, she glanced at him and saw a look on his face she thought might be concern, but then he smiled. She cracked a tiny smile and got out of the truck. She waved before stepping onto an unfamiliar walkway, and hoped the people who lived there weren't home. Chris hadn't driven away yet so she stopped halfway up the walk, turned and waved again. He lifted his hand in response then put his truck into gear and eased away from the curb. When he turned the corner, she stepped carefully through the three inches of snow that lay untouched, except for her boot prints, and headed for home.

* * *

When he'd emerged from the arena, he wasn't sure if the woman bundled up in a long, black coat, a jaunty black beret covering her head, was Allie. She'd looked so lost standing like a statue in the billowing snow, bags held in both hands, pedestrians angling around her. As he neared, he realized it was Allie, and she looked sad, just like Sweet Jess said. After their last encounter, he didn't think she'd want to talk to him—hell, he wasn't sure he really wanted to talk to her, either, but her snow-sparkled lashes and rosy cheeks had tugged at him.

In a way, he was surprised she'd agreed to that cup of coffee but it was obvious something had upset her big time. Maybe it was, as she claimed, facing the holidays without her folks. He could tell her emotions were still raw. But there was something else going on. She was jumpy and uncomfortable most of the time he was with her. But occasionally, he glimpsed pieces of someone else; someone assertive but also funny and maybe even a little laid back. He realized he wanted to unearth that other person she seemed to be hiding. How to go about doing that without coming on too strongly—because he sensed aggression would just scare her away—was what he had to figure out.

As he pulled into his driveway, he spotted one of Allie's bags on the passenger's side floor and smiled as an idea took root.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I do not own the rights to Uber.

I do not own "Say Hello 2 Heaven." It seemed to fit the scene when Allie and Chris are in his truck.

Song for Chris and Allie at the diner: "Hockey" by Jane Siberry, which I do not own. Take a listen. To me it summarizes perfectly Chris' feelings about ice hockey and growing up playing the game in a little town in northern Canada.

I want to thank UncasAliceFan. In her review of chapter 2 she said it was kind of weird that Alice and Cora aren't sisters. I thought a lot about that relationship when I started rewriting this story. But Alice is an only child—she feels very alone. If she had a sister like Cora, things may have turned out differently for her. But I decided to make their connection a little stronger thanks to UncasAliceFan's observation.

I know the relationship between Allie/Alice and Chris/Uncas is slow developing, but Allie has a lot of baggage. And you will see that Chris has some of his own as well. I hope you can be patient and stick with me—I promise it will move along and hopefully be worth the wait (At least we have BrynnaRaven's story for some fast and furious Alice and Uncas deliciousness!)

One thing I have to thank my husband for is his part-time job way back when he loaded UPS trucks at night! It was hard work but a good way to keep in shape. I thought that would be something Chris might do during the off season, at least for a while. It's physical and even though it screws up his sleeping schedule, he only does it in the summer. Once the season gets underway, he has his rituals and habits (as many athletes do)-which you may get a glimpse of as the story progresses.

And as always, I so appreciate you wonderful readers, especially when you take the time to comment—you don't know how much it helps with the writing process!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Has someone taken your faith?  
It's real, the pain you feel  
You trust, you must  
Confess  
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?

from "Best of You" by Foo Fighters

* * *

It had been a particularly long day at the preschool—at least it felt that way to Allie. This time of year was always a challenge for anyone who worked with kids. The excitement surrounding the holiday season permeated the atmosphere and definitely affected kids' behavior. Add to the mix: Monday after Thanksgiving and you had the perfect recipe for a difficult day. She just wanted to go home and unwind with a glass of red wine and some music—maybe a little Bill Evans or Marc Carey to sooth her frazzled nerves. She breathed a sigh of relief as the last child was picked up.

As soon as she'd gotten home on Friday, Allie realized she'd left one of her bags in Chris' truck. She had planned to ask Natalie if she wouldn't mind getting it from him and bringing it to school, but Jessica had been out sick today.

Allie had all weekend to think about her encounter with Chris. Despite the fact that she'd seen him several times over the past few months when he'd picked up Jessica, she hadn't really talked to him beyond a few pleasantries and small talk. Friday showed her a different side of him, an unexpectedly different side. He'd been patient and funny, even after "The Great English Muffin Fiasco," which is how she thought about the incident at the diner. His eyes, his voice, his demeanor all appealed to her in a way she hadn't experienced with any other man. With Stephen, her grief had blinded her to who he was. While she wasn't ready for anything serious or demanding, she was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, Chris might be different. But she was not in a place yet where she trusted her own judgment.

As was her habit, Allie looked for Stephen's car when she stepped out the door. Chris stood leaning against his truck, her bag dangling from two fingers, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans. She stopped and admired the sight—on a purely aesthetic level, of course—his jeans hugged his thighs just enough to hint at the musculature beneath; he wore a navy blue jacket over a grey hoodie. His black hair hung loose and tucked behind his ears. He looked so relaxed. Allie envied the ease with which he carried himself. He pushed away from his truck and slowly approached. "Hey," he said. With his head slightly lowered, he looked at her through his long, dark lashes. "Found this in my truck after I dropped you off Friday." He held the bag out to her.

"Thanks. You didn't have to bring it all the way over here," she replied reaching out to take his offering. She tried not to touch him but their fingers brushed and she felt a slight jolt of awareness. Neither of them wore gloves since the weather had turned a bit warmer after the snowfall; only puddles and wet pavements remained.

"I tried to drop it off at your house, but . . ." he let the sentence linger.

"Oh, shit," Allie thought.

"You weren't home and I didn't want to just leave it outside the door."

Allie breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm heading out of town Wednesday for our last road trip before the new year. Won't be back for about a week and I figured you'd want the stuff before then."

"Thanks," she said again. Why did she suddenly feel bereft?

They stood staring at one another for a minute—which felt like an hour to Allie—until Chris finally said, "I had a good time Friday."

"Me too," she replied.

"Yeah? My big dumb hockey self didn't scare you off?"

She thought a moment then answered, "No." And while she had experienced moments of fear, she realized that _he_ hadn't scared her; the potential of what he might be capable of inflicting is what scared her.

"You took kind of a long time to answer," he chuckled. She smiled. "So, can I ask you a favor?"

"Um . . . I guess."

"We have a home game tomorrow night. Think you might watch it?"

"I don't know, Chris, I—"

"How about just before the third period starts when we skate warm-ups? That way you can skip the first two periods and tune in for the exciting ending."

"Why?"

"It's a surprise."

"I'm not much for surprises," she replied. But his eyes were so soft, like a puppy dog hoping he wouldn't get kicked. "Well, I guess I can make the sacrifice," she relented with a small grin and watched that beautiful smile spread across his face, those obsidian eyes brighten like a spark was lit behind them. "What time should I tune in?"

"Hard to say, but let's see, the game starts at 7:00. Barring any long delays, maybe about a quarter to nine."

"OK."

"Thanks! Promise you won't regret it." One of his hands caught hold of hers. He tugged her towards him before she could react and snaked an arm around her waist. She stiffened, one hand shot up and pressed against his broad chest, holding him back. "Allie?" He let her go immediately. "Am I being a complete shit?"

She cleared her throat. "You surprised me, that's all," she replied, mentally shaking herself and trying to relax her tense body. She shifted her weight to one hip and casually leaned away from him.

"Sorry," he said. "I . . . I'll miss you while I'm away," he confessed, his voice deep, dark and sensual.

As she looked into his eyes, she felt something shift, just a fraction, inside her. "Really?" she asked.

He nodded, staring back, "Really." Tentatively, he raised his fingers and touched her cheek with a whisper light caress then dropped his hand before she could pull away.

She swallowed. Damn this man had something, something that resonated with her. She stepped back before she did anything stupid. "Good luck."

"Thanks. Can I see you when I get back?"

She shrugged, trying to keep this—whatever it was between them—light. "Maybe."

"You really know how to hurt a guy," he said, pressing a hand to his chest. The comment was softened by his grin. "Seriously, Allie. Can I at least call you?"

She shrugged, not sure how to answer. She thought that maybe she did want to see him again, but God help her, she didn't want a repeat of Stephen.

"How about we meet at Becky's again?"

Well, it worked last time, for the most part. It might be a good small step. She could always leave if she felt threatened in any way. She decided to test the water. "OK. When are you back?"

"Getting home next Tuesday. You free Wednesday after work?"

"I am."

"What time do you get off?"

"Well, that depends on whether or not all the caregivers pick up their kids on time," she said seriously then allowed a small smile to crease her lips. She tensed a bit, wondering how he'd take her teasing. But after "The Great English Muffin Fiasco" this was pretty minor. Still, she held her breath and waited for his reaction.

He grinned back and replied, "You're never going to let me forget that are you?"

She shrugged again but inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. It felt so good to joke with someone and get a normal reaction. Maybe she could do this. "I can be there at 6:30."

"We may have a wait, but that works for me. We should exchange phone numbers." He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. When Allie hesitated he looked up at her and added, "In case something comes up."

To buy herself some time she dug in her purse for her phone. "What's your number?" She entered the number he recited.

"Yours?"

She gave him the non-public work number staff used when they were running late or would be out sick.

As he slipped his phone into a back pocket, he stared at her like he was memorizing her features. She fidgeted a bit under his scrutiny, had a hard time meeting that intense gaze. What did he see in her face? She mustered up some courage and looked into his eyes. Oh, damn, if she was reading the signs right, he looked like he wanted to kiss her. Just as he reached a hand out to her, she backed away. "See you when you get back," she said. And trying hard not to run, headed for her car.

"Don't forget tomorrow night!" he shouted.

Breaking all previous speed records for getting to, unlocking, and hopping into her car, she waved as she pulled away. He raised an arm in reply.

Neither of them noticed the non-descript silver sedan parked at the end of the lot. Neither of them saw the blonde, blue-eyed man sitting behind the wheel who had watched the entire encounter.

* * *

Tuesday night, Allie turned on the TV about 8:45. She heard her phone ding. Cora's text stated: "On break at work. N is away this week. Get together for dinner?"

Allie texted back: "Ur schedule is crazier than mine. When?"

Cora: "Off Thursday. Dinner when ur done work?"

Allie: "It's a date! 6 OK?"

Cora: "Yup. Our usual?"

Allie sent thumbs up in reply then got comfortable in her favorite chair and started flipping through the stations looking for the local cable channel that aired the Blades home games. She really didn't understand what people got so excited about with this sport. The little black disc zooming across the ice was difficult to follow and the players just seemed to skate around banging into the boards or each other.

"Blades lead two to nothing," said the announcer, "we'll be back with the start of the third period after this message."

When the game came back on, Chris appeared on screen as he skated around his team's zone for the warm-up before the start of the third period. One of the announcers said, "Tobias has had a strong game tonight. And I don't mean fights." The camera zoomed in on Chris. Allie noticed, only for the second time since she'd known him, faint stubble along his jaw. "He's had an assist and a goal. It counts even if it did bounce off his rear-end." Allie snickered along with the announcers. Then she watched as Chris raised his left elbow, touched it with his right hand, held up two fingers, winked and smiled, gap-toothed, into the camera.

"Well," said one of the announcers, "Tobias has just given the signal for an elbowing penalty. Wonder what that was all about."

"You scoundrel!" Allie said to the TV and laughed, "and where are your teeth?!" She didn't think a smile that included three missing front teeth could look so adorable, but somehow, Chris managed that feat.

As the period began, Allie watched for number 17 each time he was on the ice. He raced around smashing into people, trying to get his stick on the puck. She was beginning to appreciate the speed of the game and how these guys did what they did on skates. The period was about half over. The referee stood between the two opposing Centers holding the puck out for a face off. On the left wing side, Chris and the opposing player were bent over and leaning on their sticks, awaiting the puck-drop. They began jockeying for position, sticks crossing once, twice. They shoved at each other and before Allie knew how it happened, Chris and the other guy had dropped their sticks, shook off their gloves and started whaling on each other. She knew Chris' role on the team was to fight, but since she'd never seen him do it, it hadn't seemed real despite the occasional bruises on his face. Seeing it in real time, fists pounding—was this the same man who'd been so sweet to her over the past few days? The other player was trying to pull Chris' jersey over his head but it stayed in place; at the same time, Chris somehow unlatched his opponent's helmet and popped it off his head. That's when he landed two solid rights on the guy's face instead of against the hard plastic helmet. Allie flinched each time he made contact. She closed her eyes when Chris turned into Stephen and the other player transformed into her. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and the two combatants became hockey players again. She watched the refs separate them and saw Chris taunt his opponent as if saying, "Come on! You want more?"

"Tobias and Morgan each get five minutes for fighting and Tobias gets an extra two minutes instigation," the announcer said.

When the camera focused on Chris sitting in the penalty box, he was not making the sign for an elbowing penalty and he certainly wasn't smiling. He was yelling at his opponent. His knuckles seeped blood. One of his teammates brought him an ice pack. Chris never stopped his tirade as he accepted it and placed it over the back of his right hand. Allie did not recognize him in that instant. She'd believed he couldn't possibly look fierce with all the smiling and grinning he did when he was around her. But at this moment, he looked downright nasty— nastier than Stephen ever had. Strained laughter bubbled from deep within her. "I am so stupid," she said aloud.

The camera switched to Chris' opponent. He was shouting back at Chris while cuts on his lip bled—cuts Chris had inflicted. Fear permeated her mind; it would be Stephen all over again. She shuddered. "I won't go through it again," she thought, "I won't be hurt again."

* * *

Two days later, when Allie and Cora met at J's Oyster, Cora wasted no time. "Did you enjoy Thanksgiving with my scary father?"

"I did," Allie nodded, "and your father is great!"

"Oh my God, he loves you! He doesn't usually take to people that quickly. He said you have an inner strength that most people wouldn't notice. He doesn't know how right he is!"

"You didn't tell him—"

"Of course not!"

"Cora," Allie hesitated. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything—you know that, 'little sister!'"

Allie smiled. "I like that. I always wanted a big sister."

"Well, now you have one; even if it's unofficial." After a moment, Cora asked, "So, what's up, Allie?"

"How much did you tell Nathaniel about Stephen?"

"Not much. You asked me not to, but he knew there was something up with you the first time he met you. So I told him about your parents and that you had just come out of a rough relationship. You OK with that? He's a great guy, Allie. They're not all like Stephen."

Allie nodded. "Yeah. I know. But how do you know? I mean, I used to think I knew, but now, I'm not so sure."

"I bet you had good instincts before your parents died. Before you met Stephen. Am I right?" Again, Allie nodded. "Remember that when you meet a new guy. Trust yourself. Don't rush things—you decide when and if. And, hey, Nathaniel and I can always check him out and warn him that we'll kick him upside the head if he doesn't treat you right." Cora's smile lit up her whole face.

Allie couldn't help but smile back and appreciated that Cora could brighten her mood.

"What else is going on, Allie?" Cora asked as she knocked back a swallow of beer.

Allie looked up from the salad she was toying with, "What do you mean?"

She nodded at Allie's wrist poking out from the sleeve of her sweater where a fading thumb print still marred her skin.

Allie slipped her fork next to her plate and took a sip of her own beer before meeting Cora's direct gaze. She took a deep breath, "I ran into Stephen downtown on Friday."

"Did he do that?"

Allie nodded. "I think it was an accident."

"Allie. C'mon. You know with guys like him, nothing is ever an 'accident.' Tell me what happened."

She told her about the encounter with Stephen.

"Asshole. You reconsidering that restraining order?"

Allie shrugged. "Not sure I want to go through all the paperwork, court, all that just because he confronted me on the street."

"Allie, really? Really? That's your excuse for not taking action?"

Unexpected anger shot up Allie's spine and she demanded, "What do you want from me, Cora? I'm trying to move forward. You don't have to hassle me."

Cora leaned back, folded her arms and said, "Now that's more like it."

"Bitch," Allie murmured, "Sometimes I hate you," she chuckled. "Good thing I love you so much."

"Promise me you'll think about it?" Cora questioned.

Allie nodded.

The waiter brought them a bucket of steamed clams. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Another round, please," Cora said. "OK with you, Allie?"

"Sure."

"So, what else?" Cora asked as she dug into the bucket.

"How do you always know?" Allie replied.

Cora smiled. "I'm a nurse. I've learned to read people."

Allie pulled a clam out of its shell, swirled it in a ramekin of drawn butter, slid it into her mouth and swallowed. The waiter arrived with their beers, took their empties and asked, "Anything else I can get you ladies?"

"No, thanks," Cora said.

Allie nodded, "I'm OK, thank you." After he left, Allie took a sip from her cold bottle and murmured, "I met someone but—"

Cora leaned forward. "Who?"

"Actually, Nathaniel might know him."

"What?" Cora's voice slid up an octave and her eyes widened.

"He plays for the Blades."

"Get the hell out of here! No way!" Cora chortled.

"Yes way," Allie responded.

"You better tell me all, girl."

Allie recounted how she'd met Chris, concluding with Friday and "The Great English Muffin Fiasco." "He was nice and funny."

Cora nodded throughout the telling. "But . . . "

Allie sighed looked down at her plate of empty clam shells. "I'm . . . you know how I'm not a fan of the game." Cora nodded. "But he asked me to watch the third period on Tuesday. He said he had a surprise for me." She told her about Chris' elbowing penalty signal. Cora smiled. "But then later, he beat the hell out of another player. I mean, he told me he fights. I'd seen evidence of it—black eyes, bruises on his face. But I'd never seen him actually punch someone. Jesus, Cora, he scared me. He was so vicious. If you could have seen him . . . he looked like a totally different person."

"If you feel threatened by him, don't get involved."

"Of course," Allie replied. She looked away, not able to meet Cora's eyes.

"You like him," Cora declared, sitting back in her seat.

Allie slid her eyes back to Cora's face. "A little. I think. Something about him . . . I don't know. I'm so freaking confused," she confessed and took a long swig of beer. Cora remained uncharacteristically silent. Allie shifted in her chair before finally blurting out, "What if he's just like Stephen?"

Cora reached across the table and placed her hand over Allie's. "Trust yourself."

"I can't. Not yet, anyway. I feel so stupid. How did I ever let it happen with Stephen? What if I am just a weak, pathetic—"

"Stop it," Cora cut in, "you are not stupid or weak or pathetic or whatever the hell else you were going to say. Stephen found you at an incredibly vulnerable time in your life. Christ, Allie, you'd just lost both your parents unexpectedly. You were suddenly alone in this big world. Give yourself a fucking break. And you left him. You. Left. Him."

"Only with your help," Allie replied.

"Would you fucking stop it already?! Jesus, Allie, you think you have to do everything on your own without any help from anyone? We all need help sometimes."

"But Cora, you're so strong and capable—"

"Let me tell you something about this strong and capable woman you think I am. OK, so yeah, I'm tough, but how do you think I felt when my mother died and my father was off on some military campaign?"

"You were only what, 8 years old?"

"So? You think there aren't times now when I just want to collapse and curl into myself and leave this whole fucking crazy world behind?" Allie said nothing. "Listen," Cora continued, her voice soft, "you're still healing, so maybe it's not the best time to get involved with someone."

After another moment of silence, Allie said, "You're right. We made arrangements to meet at Becky's for dinner next Wednesday, but I think I'll tell him something came up."

"I could always go with you. Or sit in another booth and spy on you guys!" Cora laughed.

"Oh, wouldn't that be cute—you and I arriving together!"

"Not together. What kind of a spy do you think I am?! I'd get there early, of course, and find a seat where I could watch everything without being noticed."

Allie laughed. "I think it might be a better idea if I just cancel for now."

Cora sobered. "Whatever you feel is best for YOU. You call me if anything, and I mean _anything_ , happens with Stephen—or Chris. OK?"

Allie nodded, grateful, so grateful to have a friend like Cora.

* * *

Later that night, when Nathaniel phoned Cora, as he did every night whenever he was away, Cora asked him about Chris Tobias. "How well do you know him?"

"Well enough, I guess. He's a nice guy. Not that talented, but tough and fearless and works his ass off. He's a good example for the young guys coming up. And a damn good enforcer for the Blades. But he'll probably never advance beyond this level as a pro—most NHL teams don't want a guy like him anymore. Why you asking?"

"Allie met him recently."

"Yeah? And?"

"Well, she's kind of interested but not sure about him. I don't think she's in a good place to start a new relationship right now."

"Cora, don't ask me to set something up," Nathaniel pleaded.

"Oh, my God, Nathaniel, what the hell? I'm not asking you to do that. I just want to get some intel on this guy."

"Hey, tell me something. Her previous boyfriend—he hurt her? Physically, I mean." He continued when Cora didn't answer, "I know the signs, Cora."

"He's an asshole! He fucked her up enough so that she doesn't trust her own judgment anymore. But I think she kind of likes this guy."

She heard Nathaniel sigh. "Give her time. You can't solve this one for her. I know you helped her with 'The Asshole,' but this, she'll have to figure it out for herself. Now, woman, I don't want to talk about Allie anymore, as much as I think she's a nice person. I want to talk about you and me and the next time we can be together."

Cora smiled as they continued their conversation.

* * *

I do not own "The Best of You" written by Christopher A. Shiflett, David Eric Grohl, Nate Mendel, and Taylor Hawkins


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

We walk the narrow path,  
Beneath the smoking skies.  
Sometimes you can barely tell the difference  
Between darkness and light.  
Do you have faith  
In what we believe?  
The truest test is when we cannot,  
When we cannot see.  
I hear pounding feet in the,  
In the streets below, and the,  
And the women crying and the,  
And the children know that there,  
That there's something wrong,  
And it's hard to believe that love will prevail.

Oh it can't rain all the time.  
The sky won't fall forever.  
And though the night seems long,  
Your tears won't fall forever.

from "It Can't Rain All the Time" by Jane Siberry

* * *

This was one of the Blades less grueling road trips since the distance between towns was not so great. Bus rides in the "Iron Lung" were never much fun, but the guys passed the time playing cards, drinking, bullshitting, staring out the windows, and placing bets on everything from the first out-of-state license plate they might see after crossing a state line, to who would score with one of the home team's "Puck Bunnies" the first night on the road.

Manchester, New Hampshire, their first stop, was about an hour and a half from Portland; they'd arrived at their hotel Wednesday night around 8:00. Curfew was 11:00 but Chris liked to settle in by 10:00 the night before a game. Luckily, his roommate on the road and at home, Evan, had similar habits along with a serious girlfriend back in Portland, so he partied less than most of the guys when they were on the road. They'd had games Thursday, and Saturday afternoon and were now heading to Worcester, Massachusetts to play tonight and Monday night. They'd head back to Portland Tuesday morning.

Chris watched the scenery as the Iron Lung rumbled along. Audioslave's "Like a Stone" blared through his head phones as Allie drifted in and out of his mind. He'd texted her after the game Tuesday night to find out if she'd seen his elbowing penalty signal; she hadn't responded. He tried a few more times, but received no replies. He hoped she wasn't pissed and giving him the silent treatment.

She was different than most of the women he knew—definitely NOT a Puck Bunny! Women tended to be more attracted to the fact that he was a jock, not who he was as a person. They often assumed he was not the brightest bulb in the pack, but didn't seem to care—turned on by his body and athleticism, rather than his mind and personality. At first, to a kid who'd been ignored, pitied, teased, or bullied, the unabashed admiration from women was a little addictive—he was awed by the effect and wanted more. But as he'd gotten older, he saw how some of his teammates treated women—things to be used and forgotten. He had a younger sister and he often thought about how he'd feel if someone treated her that way. Natalie's situation had him thinking, too. Over the years, he'd dated a few women but hadn't gotten involved in any deep relationships. And none of those women had captured his interest the way Allie had. She didn't give a shit that he was a jock. Hell, she probably hated that he played hockey. Something about her, something sweet and vulnerable, but tough too—like she'd seen stuff she shouldn't have—attracted him. And those big, grey eyes played with his head a little; he felt a familiar urge to protect her, but he didn't know what from since she'd obviously survived some tough shit with what happened to her parents.

Jesus he felt bad about that—big time loss at a pretty young age. To a certain degree, he understood why she might want to keep her distance, but he couldn't help thinking something else might be going on. One of his jobs as the team's "enforcer" was to protect the more talented players and sometimes that meant instilling fear into the opposing team. One thing Chris recognized was fear. And when he'd slipped his arm around Allie's waist that was exactly what he'd seen reflected in her beautiful eyes. He didn't understand her reaction but he wanted to, badly.

In your house I long to be  
Room by room patiently  
I'll wait for you there  
Like a stone  
I'll wait for you there  
Alone

Chris Cornell sang into his headphones as he leaned his head back and continued to stare at the scenery floating by. He was willing to be patient and wait. For Allie.

* * *

The Blades had lost three out of four games on this road trip, and in two of them had surrendered a lead well into the third period. Consequently, at practice Wednesday morning, Coach put them through several grueling drills, including "Suicide Drills." These were basically a sadistic method to improve a skater's speed. Players divided into two groups, one rested while the other completed the drill, which consisted of skating from one goal line as hard as possible to the near blue line then back to the goal line then to the center line and back, and on and on, back and forth until finally, they skated the full length of the ice to the opposite goal line and ended where they'd started. Each drill took 60-90 seconds and allowed an equal amount of rest time between. "Ten times, 'ladies!'" Coach yelled.

Unlike many enforcers, Chris was agile with good lateral movement. And while he wasn't the fastest skater on the team, he wasn't the slowest, either. Once in a while, he finished ahead of some of the more talented players. He never made a big deal out of it like some of the guys who goaded one another to win rounds. Greg Fontaine—the Blades number one scorer—challenged a different teammate almost every drill. He and Chris were in the same group today.

"Tobias, you're next," Fontaine said as they leaned on their sticks waiting their turn for the final round, everyone sucking wind.

Chris watched Evan, the absolute fastest skater on the team, reach the goal line a few seconds before anyone else. "Otawindeht." Chris considered the nickname he'd bestowed on his friend who was of Huron descent and hailed from Toronto. The other guys called him by the English translation of the Huron word for "Otter." He played the game with grace, fluidity, and speed that Chris admired. It might sound like an oxymoron for this hard-hitting, tough sport, but there were some players who were actually quite elegant in their style of play. He and Chris had become instant friends when Evan joined the team two years ago. They'd shared a rented house ever since. And he could skate circles around everyone, including Fontaine. And damn if that didn't bug the hell out of Fontaine.

"Hey, you hear me?" Fontaine cut into Chris' thoughts.

Chris was doing his best to ignore him but Fontaine was one of those guys who could get under your skin. His nickname was "Le Rat" for the way he'd stir things up on the ice then retreat when it got too hot, leaving guys like Chris to deal with the fallout. And he wore that name proudly. Chris turned his head and stared down at Fontaine from his greater height. "Yeah, I heard you."

"So, let's go!"

Fontaine made sure he set up next to Chris. At the sound of the whistle, the line of 10 guys took off. It was clear that Fontaine was working hard to win this round; he kept looking back to check the distance between himself and Chris. For his part, Chris did what he always did during these drills—skated hard and strong and didn't worry about what anyone else was doing. When they skidded to a stop at the far end of the ice and turned back for the final sprint, Chris gained a half skate blade on Fontaine. Just after they crossed the second blue line Chris felt a stick whack his leg twice. It set him off balance just enough to throw his rhythm out of sync, allowing Fontaine to cross the goal line a half stride ahead of him.

"Yeah!" Fontaine pumped his fist in the air. "Nailed you, Warrior!" he exclaimed. While most of his teammates called him by his nickname, "Fox," Fontaine always called him "Warrior" in a certain tone of voice; Chris knew it was not meant as a compliment. As Fontaine skated by, he rammed his shoulder into Chris—not so hard that he knocked him off his feet, but enough so that Chris had to shift his weight to keep his balance. "Beat you!"

"You did," Chris replied in a deep, quiet voice. He kept still and forced himself not to retaliate. He was bigger and stronger than Fontaine and one of his personal rules of conduct was never to take on someone weaker or smaller than himself. It just wasn't fair. Plus, for better or worse, Fontaine was his teammate and you never turned on a teammate. While Chris was not fond of their leading scorer, he always tried to be civil. Fontaine laughed as he skated away.

"OK, 'ladies.' You're done. Go home, get some rest, and be ready to play tomorrow night," Coach shouted.

As Fontaine stepped off the ice, Chris watched Evan say something to him. Fontaine scowled and said clearly, "Fuck off."

"What'd you say to him?" Chris asked when he reached Evan's side.

"I told Le Rat I saw him slash you."

A half smile formed on Chris' lips as he shook his head. "He hates to lose, especially to a 'Cementhead' like me."

"He's a butthole. And if he wasn't our leading scorer, he'd get no respect from anyone."

"Butthole?" Chris laughed.

"Hey, I'm trying not to be one myself, so I'm using a nicer word. He's just jealous because you've got 'flow' and he's already losing his hair. Why do you think he wears his helmet even during drills?" Most of the guys wore their helmets for scrimmages, but for drills, a lot of them chose not to. Chris himself preferred the feel of the air hitting his bare head; it reminded him of when he was a kid playing on outdoor rinks for pure fun and love of the game.

Chris just shook his head and chuckled. After he showered, dressed, and bantered with some of the guys, he asked Evan what he was up to tonight.

"Meeting Jackie in town," he replied, "hey, you want to join us?"

"Thanks, Evan but I've got plans."

"Yeah? Do I know her?"

Chris smiled, "Not yet."

"Fuckin' mystery man!" Evan laughed.

* * *

When he got home, Chris texted Allie: "Hi! Looking forward to tonight. We still on?" An hour later, he hadn't heard back. "She's probably working," thought Chris.

At 6:00, as he slipped on his jacket, his phone dinged. He didn't recognize the number but the text was definitely for him: "Can't make it to Becky's tonight. Sorry for the late notice."

He texted back: "Allie? You OK?"

No response. He called the number that had shown up with the text. A mechanical voice said, "No one is available to take your call right now. Please leave a message."

"Hi, Allie? It's Chris. Did you just text me about tonight? Everything OK? Call me back. Thanks."

Next, he brought up the number Allie had given him last week and called instead of texting. It rang and rang and rang but no one answered.

As he slipped his phone into his back pocket he decided to head to Becky's just in case this was some weird mix up. When he arrived a little after 6:30, he was told the wait would be 45 minutes. At 7:00, when Allie still hadn't shown up, he admitted it wasn't some weird mix up; she wasn't coming. He wondered what happened at the last minute that she had to cancel. And what was up with her phone number?

* * *

It was Friday—2 days since he and Allie were supposed to meet for dinner—and Chris hadn't heard shit from her. Thursday had been a "game day" which meant he followed a certain routine—light practice in the morning, big, carb-filled meal in the afternoon followed by a short nap, then back at the arena by 5:00. He wanted to give her space, but if she was pissed at him, he wished she'd just say so instead of this silent treatment crap. He hated these kinds of games and he felt like he was being played. It was 3:30 and she was probably still at work, but he thought he'd take a chance.

He knocked on Allie's front door. An older woman answered. "May I help you?" she asked, her eyes roving over the fading bruises on Chris' face—remnants from his fight the week before.

"Uh . . . I'm looking for Allie. Is she here?"

"Who?"

"Allie Munro. This is where she lives."

"No one by that name lives here."

Momentarily confused, Chris backed away as he mumbled, "Sorry to bother you, ma'am." The door slammed shut before he'd turned around. Standing on the sidewalk, hands on hips, he thought, "What the fuck?" He leapt into his truck and made a decision he hoped he didn't regret.

* * *

About 5:30, Chris pulled into the parking lot of the preschool where Allie worked, and parked in the same spot he had when he'd returned her bag. He stood leaning against his truck, trying to look nonchalant; he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and silently drummed his fingers against his thighs. As Allie emerged from the preschool, he watched her glance around like she was on the lookout for someone. When her eyes clashed with his, she halted just outside the door. A young woman following closely behind bumped into her. "Sorry, Allie!"

Allie turned, "My fault. I'm sorry."

"See you tomorrow!" the woman replied as she edged around Allie. She glanced at Chris and smiled warmly. He returned her smile then flicked his eyes to Allie again. Even after the woman had driven away, Allie hadn't moved. Chris pushed himself off his truck and slowly ambled towards her. As he got closer, he saw that fear in her eyes again. Damn.

When he was only a few paces away, she took a small step back. What the hell? Behind her, the door opened once again and a woman in her early 30s emerged, almost hitting Allie with the door. "Sorry, Allie. I didn't see you there."

"My fault," she repeated like she was on autopilot and stepped aside so the woman could pass.

The woman looked up and noticed Chris. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Waiting for Allie," he replied.

"Oh? Allie, this a friend of yours?" she asked, keeping her eyes on Chris.

Allie seemed to wake up from a dream—or a nightmare. She breathed in and said, "This is Chris Tobias. He picks up Jessica sometimes."

"Oh, yes. The hockey player! Jessica always gets excited when she knows you'll be picking her up. I'm Alexandra Cameron. I'm the Director here."

"Nice to meet you," Chris said, taking her proffered hand.

"Likewise," she replied. "I've got to run. Allie, see you tomorrow morning." And off she went leaving them alone at the entrance.

Chris watched her pull away then turned back to Allie. He waited for her to say something, but she kept her mouth shut and didn't move. Tucking his hands deeper into his pockets he winced slightly from the bruises on his knuckles and shifted on his feet. He'd been prepared to be self-righteous and angry but seeing Allie's "deer in headlights" look, he switched gears. "You pissed at me?" he asked.

Allie shook her head.

"Then what's up?" When she remained silent, he felt a twinge of annoyance. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, rested them on his hips and continued, "You bail on me at the last minute on Wednesday. You don't answer my texts or phone calls—hell, I think you gave me a bogus number. You sure as hell gave me a bogus address because I went there today and unless the woman who answered the door was lying, you don't live there."

"Shit," she murmured.

"Listen. I'll make it easy for you. You don't want to see me? Just tell me," he shrugged one shoulder. "Don't play these goddamn games with me, Allie." He spoke in that same deep, quiet voice he'd used earlier with Fontaine.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and bit her lip, rocking back on her heels. "I'm sorry, Chris. I . . . I just . . ." Her eyes were riveted on his right hand. "I can't do this. I just can't fucking do this with you right now!" Her gaze traveled from his battered knuckles up to his face, "whatever the hell this is," she ended on a whisper.

Chris had never heard Allie sound like this. Desperate. Scared as hell. Jesus H. Christ. And when he realized she had been staring at his right hand, something clicked in his brain. Glancing down at his still bruised knuckles, he said, "You saw me fight on Tuesday." And although tears pooled in her eyes, they did not spill over. Her chin tilted up and she clenched her fists, like she was holding in goddamn Niagara Falls. He took a deep breath and asked, "Can we talk? Please? No strings. Just talk."

She seemed to find herself again as she replied, "I've had a long day. I'm tired and hungry."

"I still owe you that dinner at Becky's," he replied. "C'mon, Allie. Give me a chance to explain."

A silver sedan pulled into the lot. As one, they turned their heads and saw a blond man at the wheel. Allie clutched Chris' arm. "OK. I'll go with you," she rasped.

Surprised, Chris turned back to her. Jesus, her eyes! And she was trembling, her fingers digging into his forearm. He took her hand and together they headed to his truck. Chris could feel the urgency in her stride. He accompanied her to the passenger's side and yanked open the door. Once she slid into the seat, he slammed the door shut, jogged around to the driver's side, hopped in and started the engine. In his side mirror he saw the guy whip into a parking spot and emerge from the car. Whoever he was, Allie obviously didn't want to see him. He glanced at her as he put the truck into gear and roared out of the parking lot, leaving the guy standing in the proverbial dust. Her fingers were locked together in her lap and her eyes were closed. "You OK?" he asked.

She took a deep breath, nodded then opened her eyes, "Yes."

"You still want to go to Becky's?" he ventured.

She turned and looked at him like she was scrutinizing something under a microscope, trying to take in every detail. "I do," she stated, "but my car . . ."

"We can swing by after dinner so you can get it."

She nodded.

* * *

Dinner at Becky's would've meant a one hour wait, so they headed to Taco Escobarr. While the Happy Hour crowd filled the bar area, the restaurant had more tables than Becky's and their wait would only be about 20 minutes. The ride over had been silent, as Chris sensed Allie was not interested in talking. He wanted answers but he wouldn't push her. It was too noisy to really talk at the bar, so Chris remained quiet except to ask Allie if she wanted a drink. After a brief exchange, he ordered himself a beer, and a Malbec for her. They sipped while trying to avoid being jostled. Someone bumped Allie's back, pushing her into Chris' chest. "Sorry," she mumbled.

He placed his hand on her shoulder to steady her and replied, "It's OK." Her body trembled slightly but she seemed to finally relax. He squeezed her shoulder once then dropped his hand.

A few guys nodded to him in recognition, another slapped him on the back. A couple of women eyed him with appreciative glances before giving Allie a once over; he kept his attention on the woman standing with her shoulder barely brushing his chest.

When the restaurant pager he'd stuck in his jacket pocket buzzed, he pulled it out and said, "Our table's ready." His fingertips brushed the small of her back as they wended their way through the crowd. After being seated, looking over the menu, and listening to the specials, they placed their orders.

Finally alone, Chris looked at Allie expectantly. Staring into her wine, she fidgeted with the glass, turning the stem round and round between her fingers. When she glanced up at him he wondered what she saw in his face—just the fading bruises or something else? He took a long swallow of beer. "Who was that guy?" he wondered aloud, "boyfriend? Ex-husband or what?" When she said nothing, he continued, "Is he why you bailed on dinner Wednesday night? If you're seeing someone, Allie, tell me. I can deal."

The waitress brought a basket of chips and a Molcajete Bowl of salsa. "Can I get either of you another round?" she asked.

"I'm OK, thanks," Allie said.

"I'll have another," Chris replied. After she left, he continued, "Allie. Look at me." When she remained silent, he ground out, "Fucking talk to me." She flinched and he was immediately sorry he'd sounded so harsh. He sighed and sat back in his seat, hands braced on the edge of the table. She was staring at his right hand again. He dropped it below the table out of her line of sight. "I'm sorry, Allie. Just . . . c'mon—"

Allie blinked. "I'm . . ." she began, "I'm not seeing anyone."

"Is he someone I should be worried about? Because you sure were."

"No," Allie declared, shaking her head, "no," she repeated. "He's someone I used to know."

Chris wondered if she was trying to convince him or herself. There was definitely some kind of shit happening, but it was obvious she wasn't ready to tell him about it. So, instead of pressing that issue, he asked, "Do you even want to be here with me?" She looked startled when she met his eyes. "I don't like games, Allie. There's enough bullshit in the world without us adding to it. So if you don't want to see me," here he stopped, looked down at the table then back up at her, "please, just tell me."

She must have seen something in his face. Her eyes softened and her hand pressed against her mouth, again like she was holding something big inside. But before she could respond, the waitress arrived with Chris' beer. "Meals should be up soon," she said and left them alone once more.

Chris realized she hadn't answered his question and he could see she seemed to be fighting with herself somehow. He decided to let it slide, for now. Instead, he said, "I'm sorry you saw that fight."

Allie leaned back and scrutinized him—his face, his knuckles as he plucked a few chips from the basket and dunked them into the Molcajete Bowl. She nodded at his hand, "Looks like it was pretty painful."

"I hit his helmet a few times."

"I know."

"I thought maybe you were pissed about the elbow thing."

She smiled slightly and ducked her head peering up at him through her lashes. "I thought that was funny. No. It was when you beat the crap out of that guy."

"So, you think I won that fight?" he smirked.

She rolled her eyes, which he found adorable. "He was bleeding a lot more than you. But . . . can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Why, Chris? I . . . I don't understand it. It's what I hate about hockey. So brutal." And here she glanced away.

He'd heard this point of view before and usually dismissed it as coming from someone uninformed. But this was Allie; he wanted her to understand him and why he played, why he was willing to take the punishment that was a part of the game. "First, the guy I fought, he's their enforcer, too," he said.

"Enforcer?" she looked at him.

"Yeah. Most teams have at least one. But we're falling out of favor these days. He's the guy, like me, who, if he wins a fight, can spark his team. Or when someone on the other team goes after your good players—the stars—the enforcer is the guy who protects them. This way, you send a message to the other team not to mess with your teammates. And when you get penalized, the team isn't losing its best player, just a mediocre one."

"Why do you say you're mediocre?"

"Because I am. I have to be honest with myself. I've got the drive and determination to want to play well. And I work my butt off out there. I hit, play hard, and try to get things going. And if I have to, I fight. That's what I do. That's what I'm good at."

"Doesn't it bother you to hurt someone like that?"

"Not if he's trying to hurt me. And I only fight guys who are fighters. I've never gone after the top players of another team. It's easy to beat the hell out of someone who's weaker than you or who doesn't usually fight. But what does that prove? And anyway," he concluded, "you lose a fight with a guy smaller than you are, and you look like a total asshole." He half smiled at her, waiting for her reaction to his little speech.

"A fighter with honor," she said just as the waitress appeared with their meals.

"I try to be fair. To fight fair," Chris said once they were alone again. He dug into his meal. After swallowing the first bite of his shrimp burrito, he continued, "I try never to hit a guy from behind. Or hit his knees or use my stick on him. If I'm going to fight, I let the guy know. So when we do go at it, it's just him and me and we know what we have to do."

"That night," she began but stopped, looked up at him with those big luminous eyes of hers.

She looked uncertain and he wanted to reassure her. "Go on, Allie. Don't be afraid to ask me whatever you want."

"You looked so different when you fought that guy on Tuesday," she bit her bottom lip, took a deep breath and continued, "You were yelling at him and . . . your face . . . your eyes were . . . I don't know . . . you looked really angry."

"The way I am on the ice, it's not who I am off it."

"But it's a part of you."

"Well, yeah. It is. But it's not all of me. You saw my 'game face.' I'm intense out there. I don't want to be taken advantage of. I want to do my best for my team. Maybe put a little fear into the other team. It's a tough game. I'm willing to take whatever is dished out because I love it. But I won't let my guard down if I can help it. And Morgan? He'd been at me the whole night. You know, I'm not a scorer," he quirked his lips in amusement, "but that night, I got a goal and an assist—it was a good game for me. So he'd been using his stick on me every chance he got and he wasn't getting called on it. I'd finally had enough, so we went at it. I had a 'Gordie Howe Hat Trick,'" he concluded. At her baffled look he said, "A goal, an assist, and a fight." He sat back and waited for her reaction.

She was looking at him as she had when they were in his truck, her eyes roaming his face like she was trying to discover something deep inside him.

The waitress stopped by their table to check on them. When she left, Allie's eyes strayed back to his right hand loosely holding his beer. As he lifted it to take a swig, he watched her eyes follow the movement. "Allie." She blinked and looked into his eyes. Again, he saw a flicker of fear. "You keep staring at my hand." He held it up between them. "What's scaring you?"

Her breath hitched as she echoed, "Scaring me?"

"I recognize fear when I see it, Allie," he murmured.

Her elbows landed on the table and her hands covered her mouth before sliding down to grip her arms across her body as she sat back. It was a defensive posture and Chris could see her starting to shut down. He did not want that. "Hey, hey, Allie. C'mon, don't get mad."

"I'm not mad," she stated.

"Anything else I can get you?" the waitress asked when she approached their table.

"Allie?" Chris asked. She shook her head. "Just the check, please," he said.

After the dirty dishes were cleared and the empties collected, Chris continued, determined not to let anything else break this moment when he felt like he might finally be making some headway. "OK. If you're not mad, you're not scared, then what? My hand fascinate you that much?" He slid that hand across the table, pressed his palm flat on the surface between them exposing his still bruised knuckles. He felt like he was approaching a wounded animal in the wild. "Allie, touch it. It won't hurt you. I won't hurt you." He heard her suck in a breath and she looked startled as she tightened the grip on her arms. Her gaze flicked back and forth between his hand and his eyes. Slowly, so slowly, she unclenched her fingers and brushed her trembling fingertips across his knuckles, traced a vein to his wrist. Just as slowly, he turned his hand, his palm against hers.

When the waitress returned with their check, Allie tried to pull away but he was ready for her and held on with a gentle grip, entwining their pinkies and thumbs. "Thanks," he said to the waitress without taking his eyes off Allie. After the waitress left, he felt Allie's hand, finally, relax in his hold. "See," he whispered, "not so bad, right?"

"Not so bad," she agreed.

Leisurely, so she had all the time in the world to pull away, he lifted their intertwined fingers and pressed his lips against the back of her hand. He looked up at her through his lashes and saw a look of amazement cross her face. "Allie," he murmured against her hand, "don't be afraid of me."

Her features settled into a calm mask. "I'm not," she said, and tugged her hand. He didn't let go, but he did lift his lips from her smooth skin and sit back in his seat. Now he thought he could broach the subject of where she lived.

He wrapped his hand more firmly around hers and placed them gently on the table once again. "You want to tell me about the house I dropped you off at last week?"

"Not really," she replied, "but I do owe you an explanation." She paused, as if to gather her thoughts then continued, "Ever since my parents died, I've become more cautious. I've been . . . I've been taken advantage of once or twice, so I . . . don't give my phone number or address out often."

He'd been toying with her fingers and running his thumb across the back of her hand while she admitted this. "You can trust me, Allie. I would never hurt you or take advantage of you." When she said nothing, he asked, "You believe me, don't you?" She nodded and he squeezed her hand, a gesture of reassurance.

Glancing down at her watch, she said, "I should get going, Chris. And I still have to get my car."

He paid the bill and when she she started to protest, he said with that easy smile of his, "You can treat next time."

* * *

It was dark when they pulled into the brightly lit parking lot, deserted except for Allie's car. Chris pulled up next to her little Honda and met her as she hopped down from the passenger's side of his truck. He held her hands between them. "So, can I see you again?"

As she looked up at him, still a little dazed at how much she'd revealed without revealing too much, she admitted to herself that she did want to see him again. He'd been patient, hadn't cut her down even after he discovered she'd lied to him about her address. And when Stephen had appeared in the parking lot, Chris hadn't hesitated at all. He'd sensed her fear and need to get away and hadn't questioned her—just reacted, whisking her to safety. At the restaurant, he'd shown a flash of anger, but had seemed to get over it just as quickly. "I'd like that," she replied.

His eyes were almost black, but shimmering as they roamed her face. He tugged her a little closer and whispered, "Can I kiss you?

She barely nodded, but he must have seen because with a gentleness that chipped away at her defenses, he tilted her chin up and slowly lowered his head until their lips met. Tentative at first, as if he tasted a forbidden fruit, he nibbled a little, slid his hands along her cheek and into her hair, wrapped his other hand around her waist. And this time, she didn't pull away, didn't flinch. Instead, she softened, curving into him, her own arms sliding around him beneath his open jacket. She could feel the movement of muscle along his back. Did that slight moan come out of her mouth? Chris pulled her even closer and her body pressed into his, her nipples hardening unexpectedly. His tongue slid along the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth to receive him. He tilted his head, delved deeper. She responded; her hands roaming all along the planes of his torso. God, she didn't expect him to feel this good in her arms. Had Stephen ever felt like this when she held him? Or when he held her? If he had, it was so buried in her memories she could not recall, but she doubted it. Chris sighed against her lips as he pulled back the tiniest bit. "You taste so good."

"Like the chicken quesadilla I had for dinner?" she smiled.

"So much better than that," he replied, "like the Malbec you drank at dinner." He grinned as he leaned his forehead against hers. "I have a game tomorrow afternoon. Can I see you afterwards?" She hesitated and he leaned back, looked into her eyes.

Could he see she was trying so hard to overcome her fears? Trying so hard to trust him, to believe he was genuinely a good man who wouldn't hurt her as Stephen had? When she stared into his eyes, the lighthouse she and her father used to visit on Sundays popped into her head and she felt, as she always had at those times, safe, secure, and something more, something elusive and just out of reach. Unable to speak at this moment, she simply nodded.

He pulled her to his chest again and wrapped her in his strong arms, one hand pressing her head against his shoulder, the other stroking her back; his cheek nestled into her soft hair. She sighed, oddly content, and squeezed him around the waist. He chuckled. "Trying to squeeze the life out of me?" his voice rumbled above her.

"Trying to pull the life into me," she thought silently. She felt more alive at this moment than she had in a long time. Like the sun shining after days and days of rain and cloud cover—no need for the lighthouse to blink its pattern nor the foghorn to sound.

After a few more moments of silence, Chris asked, "So, what do you think? Can I see you tomorrow night?" He pulled back to see her face.

"I think so. I just need to check with a friend who mentioned something about getting together Saturday night. She's a nurse and has a crazy schedule." It wasn't exactly a lie. She would check with Cora—maybe she was off and the four of them could do something if Nathaniel was free as well. She'd feel safe with others around and could maybe get Cora's take on Chris.

"OK. I'll be at the rink by 10:00. Our game starts 1:05. Can I call you after?"

She decided to take another step forward. "Sure."

"So, is your real number the one you used to text me? No one picked up the other one." She glanced down, unable to meet the plea she read in his eyes. But he tilted her chin up so she could not look away. "Allie, I know you have shit going on. If you let me in, maybe I can help. But you have to trust me. At least a little."

She took a deep breath. "I'm trying, Chris. Even if it doesn't seem like it."

As she watched his eyes roam her face, linger on the scar that cut through her eyebrow, she wondered what he saw. His thumb traced up until it rested against her temple; his palm enveloped her cheek. "I can see that." His voice was husky, deep, and resonated inside her. She felt a little piece of pain tumble off her. She blinked rapidly to hold in the tears that suddenly formed behind her eyes. Her breath came in short, rapid bursts. "Allie," he said as he took her face gently into his hands. "Look at me." Her eyes lifted to meet his. "I won't hurt you." And for some reason she didn't understand, she believed him. He pressed his lips tenderly to her scar, each eye, the tip of her nose, and finally, to her waiting mouth.

How could this big brute of a man, so strong, so tough, be so gentle? She'd never met anyone like him, never felt anything like this with any other man. The fingers of one hand entwined in her hair and the other cupped her shoulder, continued to her back, rubbing circles along her spine. Even through her coat, she felt the heat radiating off him. If she wasn't careful, she'd collapse right here in the parking lot. Alexandra would find her in the morning, reduced to nothing but a puddle on the ground next to her car. Reluctantly, she unlocked her lips from Chris' mouth. "I really need to get home," she whispered. He slid his hands until they rested in a loose grip at the small of her back. Her fingers wrapped around his upper arms. "That number where no one picked up?" she began. He nodded. "That's actually my work number. The one we use when we call out sick."

"And the one you used to text me?"

"That's my cell," she replied. "Don't let this be a mistake," she pleaded silently.

He kissed her again and said, "I'll text you after the game tomorrow."

She nodded, then slipped out of his arms and unlocked her car. But before she got in, she noticed a scratch by the door handle that hadn't been there earlier. She backed up into Chris, who stood directly behind her. "What is it?" he asked immediately and put his hands on her shoulders.

Her eyes traveled along the side of her car. "That scratch."

Chris shifted around her and hunkered down to run his fingers along a nasty scrape that began by the headlight and streaked across the driver's side door to the handle. "Looks like someone keyed your car," he said. He stood and faced her. "It's usually deliberate. Someone trying to send a message or just be an asshole."

"Stephen," thought Allie silently and pressed her lips together.

As if he read her mind, Chris said, "That blonde guy in the car. Would he do this?"

Allie knew that if she didn't answer him it would in itself be an answer. "I don't think so," she muttered, "we've had a few incidents of vandalism in the parking lot lately," she lied easily. In response to the skeptical look on his face, she continued, "It's OK, Chris. Really."

"I'll follow you home," he declared. When she opened her mouth to protest he placed a finger over her lips. "No arguments."

She understood that it would be pointless to disagree so she simply nodded.

When they got to Allie's house, he walked her to her front door. "You OK?" he asked taking her hands in his and drawing her nearer.

"Yeah. I am," she replied, looking him directly in the eye because right now, she did feel OK.

He kissed her again, bending her back slightly, and leaning into her like he could scoop her up and carry her away. Again, the lighthouse flashed into her thoughts and again, a sense of comfort and safety surrounded her. She didn't understand these feelings swirling inside her but she decided she would simply trust them at this moment and not worry about what it all might mean. When they parted, Chris' smile flashed in the moonlight. "Let's touch base after the game tomorrow. Don't stand me up again, OK?" he pleaded.

"I won't, Chris. I promise." And with that, she turned from his arms and unlocked her door. He let her go and lingered until she closed and locked the door. She pressed her cheek and one hand against the door, imagining she could almost feel his touch through the wood. Then she shook her head in admonishment for such fanciful ideas and pushed away. But for the first time in a long while, she found herself filled with a little bit of hope and a little bit of longing.

* * *

For Allie and the way she is feeling at the moment:

Train-whistles, a sweet clementine  
Blueberries, dancers in line  
Cobwebs, a bakery sign

Ooooh - a sweet clementine  
Ooooh - dancers in line  
Ooooh ...

If living is seeing  
I'm holding my breath  
In wonder - I wonder  
What happens next?  
A new world, a new day to see

I'm softly walking on air  
Halfway to heaven from here  
Sunlight unfolds in my hair

Ooooh - I'm walking on air  
Ooooh - to heaven from here  
Ooooh ...

If living is seeing  
I'm holding my breath  
In wonder - I wonder  
What happens next?  
A new world, a new day to see

"New World" by Bjork

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I do not own:

"It Can't Rain All the Time" written by Jane Siberry and Graeme Revell

"Like a Stone" written by Timothy Commerford, Chris Cornell, Tom Morello, Brad Wilk

"New World" written by Bjork

"Come Talk to Me" written by Peter Gabriel – song playing in my head when Chris and Allie are at Taco Escobar.

Hockey Lingo from thehockeywritersdotcom and glassoutdotcom:

Cementhead – another word for the enforcer or fighter on a team

Flow – great hockey hair that is usually long and flows out from under the helmet (Eric Schweig DEFINELY has flow!)

Gordie Howe Hat Trick - When a player registers a goal, an assist and a fight in one game.

Iron Lung – refers to a minor league team bus

Puck Bunnies – women who go out of their way to be with hockey players

Every hockey player has a nickname, whether it's a shortened version of his name or something that describes a characteristic of his personality or style of play, or a memorial from an embarrassing moment in his life.

"Otawindeht" ("Otter" in Huron) is pronounced o-ta-WIN-deht

Otter – sleek, agile and fast in the water; that's how Evan is on the ice

Fox – because Chris is a wily enforcer on the ice (and Uncas means "Fox" in Mohican)

Thank you, Mohawk Woman, for Evan's nickname and the idea behind it (Evan is for YOU!) and for why "Fox" fits Chris/Uncas' character so aptly!

I meant to include this at the end of Chapter 3, but forgot. In Chapter 3, Chris refers to himself as "Indian" not "Native American" or "First Nations." I am basing my choice on a few articles I've read over the years, as well as an interview with Russell Means that appears on the Mohican Press website. In a March, 2004 interview, he said: "I'm not a Native American. Okay? I think anyone born in the western hemisphere is a **NATIVE** American . . . I'm an American Indian. I know where the word Indian comes from. It's an English bastardization of two Spanish words ... _In Dio_ which means 'in with God,' so I'd much prefer to be called in with God."

On the same website, in an interview published March, 2005, Madeleine Stowe mentioned the first time she saw Eric Schweig: "I remember Eric sitting in the outer office. He was a striking and interesting young man and someone was asking him if it was appropriate to say 'Native American' when referring to his people and he said, 'No. Indian.'"

Chris and Allie are finally making some progress! I hope it comes across realistically—at the restaurant, they had a lot of ground to cover but I wanted it to seem natural. Consequently, Chris let some things slide, but he won't give up trying to figure out what's going on with Allie. Hopefully, it doesn't seem forced or phony. Thank you for your patience! More breakthroughs to come!

By the way, the restaurants referred to are real places in Portland, Maine. I am taking some liberties with their exact locations, but I claim poetic license!

This is by far my longest chapter ever, and one I struggled with here and there, which is why it's taken me so long to post. I hope I haven't lost any of you and I thank you for your patience and your encouragement!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Allie sat at the breakfast bar in her kitchen sipping a cup of coffee when her phone dinged. It was 9:30 Saturday morning and she'd been thinking about Chris. Well, "daydreaming" was probably the more appropriate word. She couldn't help smiling to herself. Their shared kisses lingered in her mind as she picked up her phone. "Speak of the devil," she murmured.

Chris: Hey, Allie. Just wanted to say hi before I head to the rink.

Allie: Hi. Good luck today.

Chris: Thx. How are you?

Allie: OK. You? Ready for the game?

Chris: Good. Ready as I can be. Really liked hanging with you last night. Hope we can do it again tonight.

Allie: Me, too.

He sent "thumbs up." She responded with a smiley face.

Remembering what it felt like to be held in his arms, the way he'd kissed her scar—his gentleness was so unexpected.

The phone's ding interrupted her thoughts again.

Cora: R U free this afternoon?

Allie: Yes. Are YOU?

Cora: YUP! N is scouting the Blades game. U want to go?

Allie: To the game?

Cora: Yes. N has 2 tix.

Allie: Can you talk?

Allie had barely finished typing when her phone rang. "Cora!" she exclaimed laughing, "you don't waste any time, do you?"

"Not on my days off," she quipped. "So, what'd you want to talk about?"

"Chris wants to get together after the game. I was wondering if you and Nathaniel might want to do something—the four of us. I was thinking you could meet Chris. You know, let me know what you think about—"

"Wait, wait, wait! When? How? I think I missed something!" Cora exclaimed.

She told Cora about her evening with Chris without mentioning Stephen or that her car had been keyed.

"Well, shit" said Cora, "you work a few 12 hour shifts and miss all kinds of stuff! My original plan was to take you to the game so I could check out this guy. Then I thought the three of us could go back to my place and make dinner. Now it can be the four of us. Might be a good way to really see what this guy is made of. You know, you can really tell a lot about a man by the way he behaves in the kitchen."

"What?" Allie was laughing again.

"Oh, yeah. You can see if he's 'kitchen-adverse' or not. So, what do you think?"

She hesitated. "I've never actually been to a hockey game before."

"No problem. I can tell you anything you want to know. God knows I've learned enough from Nathaniel. I could probably do some scouting myself!" When Allie did not respond, Cora continued, "What are you worried about, Allie?"

"Just not sure how I'll react when I'm there. If he gets into another fight, I . . . I don't know if I can watch it, Cora."

"Listen, you don't want to go, that's OK. We can meet at my place afterwards."

Allie took a deep breath and decided to take another step forward. "I'll go."

"Good for you! I'll pick you up at 12. We can get there early and pop in on Nathaniel. He'll be in a special reserved area just for scouts. Our seats are in a different section—God forbid we distract him when he's doing his job," Cora chortled.

"I can understand that," Allie sympathized.

"We'll be early enough to watch the warm-ups. And Allie, we can leave if things start getting to you."

And that was how Allie found herself at The Cross Insurance Arena on Saturday afternoon getting ready to watch her first hockey game live and in-person. Admittedly, she felt a little nervous, not knowing what to expect. The first thing she noticed when she entered the building was a slight chill in the air—like a day in late fall when the weather starts turning a tiny bit more wintry. It felt exhilarating, anticipation in the air. The ice looked glaringly white, the blue and red lines contrasting starkly. The Blades logo, a black pair of skates breaking, spitting an arc of snow, adorned the middle of the ice surface. Surrounding the entire rink were boards about waist high covered in ads for local businesses; tall, half-inch thick sheets of plexiglass topped the boards.

Cora and Allie stopped by Nathaniel's seat. After the initial greetings, Nathaniel and Cora hugged like they hadn't seen each other for months. Their closeness moved Allie; she almost felt like an intruder. She took a breath and said, "Thanks for the tickets, Nathaniel."

"No problem. I hope you enjoy the game, Allie. Glad you could make it," he replied, his hand massaging the back of Cora's neck beneath her wavy dark hair. She'd left it long and loose today, the knitted cap she'd worn twirling around her finger. "Does Chris know you're here?" he asked.

"No. I thought I'd surprise him," Allie replied.

He nodded then watched as the players from the opposing team marched out of the tunnel from the visitor locker room and glided onto the ice. "Well, ladies, I'm afraid I have to get to work. I'm scouting a couple of the players on this team."

Cora kissed Nathaniel smack on the lips and Allie watched his face turn red. She didn't think anyone could make him blush, but clearly, Cora had that effect on him.

As Allie and Cora took their seats on the lower level, about 15 rows up from what would be the Blades defensive blue line for the first and third periods, the Blades slid onto the ice. The players proceeded to skate around their end, take practice shots, and execute some quick drills. Allie's eyes went immediately to number 17. He was easy to pick out; with his height and breadth he was taller than most of his teammates. His silky black hair fluttered in a truly beautiful way—like he was on a movie set with a fan gently caressing his face. Slight stubble adorned his jaw as she'd noticed on one or two other occasions; it gave him a more rugged appearance. She'd always thought he was handsome, but seeing him in his element, here on the ice, skating with confidence and pride, made it that much more obvious. She better understood why women ogled him. She also saw that he was not the only player missing a few teeth!

Aside from the chill in the air, Allie also noticed the sounds that were unique to this game—the hiss of sharp skate blades cutting through the smooth surface of the ice, the knock of the frozen puck against a stick blade and the thud of that puck hitting the goalie's pads, the occasional shouts of the players. It was a different world for Allie and she felt unexpected anticipation and excitement brewing inside her. But also, in a strange way, a serenity she hadn't experienced since the visits to the lighthouse with her father.

"OK. What do you want to know about this crazy game?" Cora broke into Allie's thoughts.

Allie laughed, "Everything! I'm telling you, Cora, I am totally ignorant. All I know is that they allow fighting. And a lot of the players seem to be missing front teeth!"

"Lucky I'm dating a hockey scout. I probably know more than I want to!"

After warm-ups were complete, both teams left the ice and the zamboni drove out onto the surface to smooth it over before the start of the game. Cora used the time to explain the basics. "One mistake too many newbies make is that they try to follow the puck. Don't bother. Instead, watch the players and you'll know where the puck is by how they react. You can always watch the puck in replays."

To Allie's delight, their seats were behind the player benches. Once the game began, she got to watch the guys hop back and forth over the boards as they changed lines. Shifts lasted about 45 seconds or so, depending on how the play was going. Even though she didn't quite understand "off sides" and why the face offs were set up at different points on the ice, she found herself enjoying the speed and fluidity of the game. One player in particular, number 16, "McMurray" stitched on the back of his jersey, was a speedster. At one point, he generated what Cora called a "breakaway." One of his teammates passed the puck to him in the Blades defensive end and he flew down the ice, weaving around opposing players until it was just him and the goalie. McMurray faked left; the goalie moved in the same direction. And there it was, even Allie could see it, a wide open section of the six by four foot net on the right side. McMurray twisted his wrists in a certain way; the puck lifted off the ice and sailed into the goal. A red light lit up behind the glass and a sound like a foghorn blared along with the roar of the crowd. His teammates crowded him, pounding him on the top of his helmet and just like that, the Blades were ahead 1-0.

"Beautiful wrist shot!" Cora yelled when she and Allie jumped out of their seats cheering and clapping.

As the game progressed, Allie kept a close eye on Chris. What she noticed was that he never shied away from battling for a puck that was dumped into an offensive corner; he shouldered his way in and didn't hesitate to body check an opponent. Sometimes he positioned himself in front of the other team's net. Cora explained he was trying to block the goalie's view of the shot so they had a better chance to score. "That's a pretty tough position to take. Not every player is willing to do that—it can be dangerous."

"How?" Allie questioned.

"You can get hit with a 90 mile an hour puck. And look at the goalie—see what he's doing?"

Allie watched the other team's goalie hit Chris on the back of the calves with his oversized stick. "Hey, is that legal?"

"No. But the refs give a lot of leeway to goalies since they're really in the hot seat a lot. If another player did that, he'd probably get a slashing penalty."

Later in the period, when Chris was on the ice again, Allie asked, "Are they allowed to bang each other into the boards like that? To hit each other . . . like that?" she asked as she watched Chris slam his shoulder into one of his opponents, causing him to lose control of the puck. At that point, one of Chris' linemates picked up the loose puck and skated towards the goal. He pulled his stick back waist-high and blasted a slapshot towards the net. The crowd howled in anticipation, but the goalie made a kick save. The rebound landed on Chris' stick and he took a shot. The puck bounced off the goalie's chest and he smothered it under his oversized mitt. Chris and the player who'd taken the original shot hacked at the goalie's glove with their sticks trying to free the puck. The ref whistled the play dead. Two of the defenders on the other team shoved Chris and his linemate, steering them away from their goalie. "Are they allowed to do that, too?" Allie asked.

"They're protecting their goalie. You don't want anyone messing with him. And they can hit as long as they don't use their stick or elbow or take more than three steps to do it. You saw what happened; Chris' body check led to a scoring chance. Exciting, right?"

"Actually, yes!" Allie replied, "but all that banging around, it's got to hurt!"

"These guys are almost always in some kind of pain but that's part of the game."

Allie watched Chris and his linemates hop over the boards as another line took their place on the ice. One of the coaches said something to Chris, who nodded as the coach slapped him on the back. She was impressed with Chris' intensity. And she had to admit, she really enjoyed watching him play. He was tough and courageous, skating right into the fray without hesitation.

By game's end, Allie had a healthy appreciation for the sport and the guys who played it. While there were a few times she'd flinched when a couple of bodies slammed against the glass near their seats, there had not been any fights, for which she was grateful. The Blades won 3-1 with a guy named Fontaine getting one goal and McMurray, who was the star of the game, getting two. Allie and Cora watched him being interviewed on the ice. His melodious voice was not as deep as Chris' but it was pleasant. He'd removed his helmet exposing medium length black hair plastered to his head; he ran a hand through the wet strands and wiped his dripping brow with a forearm. He smiled often, emphasizing his sharp cheek bones and dark eyes. After the interview ended, any lingering fans left the building.

"I usually meet Nathaniel on the concourse over by his section," Cora said to Allie. They made their way to the area, about halfway around the rink. As they waited for Nathaniel to join them, Allie's phone dinged.

"It's Chris," she said to Cora.

Chris: Hi, Allie. We on for tonight?

Allie: Hi. Do you mind if we get together with my friend and her boyfriend? She invited us to her house for dinner.

Chris: OK. Meet there?

Allie: No. Here.

Chris: Where?

Allie: Here!

Chris: ?

Allie: At the rink!

Chris: WHAT?!

She texted their location on the concourse as Nathaniel approached. Cora flung herself at him. "Great game!" she laughed.

His smile was wide and bright as he caught her in his arms. "How'd you like the game, Allie?" he asked over Cora's head.

"Better than I thought I would," she replied with a grin.

"We doing dinner at your place, Cora?" Nathaniel asked when she leaned back and he loosened his tie.

"Yeah. I've got all the fixings ready for lasagna. Plus a nice bottle of red wine," she replied.

"Sounds perfect," he said as he nuzzled her ear.

"Allie?" At the sound of Chris' voice, Allie whirled around and watched him stride towards her. He looked very handsome in a dark grey suit, mulberry shirt and forest green tie. His hair, damp from a shower, was combed straight back off his forehead. That bit of stubble she'd noticed earlier still graced his upper lip and chin. "What're you doing here?"

"Chris," Allie began once he'd reached the little group, "these are my friends, Cora and Nathaniel."

"Hi," he said to Cora and offered his hand.

She shook it saying, "Nice to meet you."

He looked at Nathaniel. "EA!" he said and grinned, "Didn't know you'd be scouting this game."

As they shook hands, Nathaniel said, "Couple of prospects from the other team. But you guys handled them really well today."

"Thanks!"

"EA?" he questioned.

Chris looked sheepish. "'EA' as in 'Edgar Allen.' It's our nickname for you," Chris replied, referencing Nathaniel's last name, "Poe."

Nathaniel laughed, "Really? Should I even ask why?"

"Uh . . ." Chris hesitated, "something about horror stories."

"You guys are so clever! Who came up with that one?"

"I don't even remember, it's been so long." He turned his attention to Allie and smiled broadly. She noticed how perfectly straight and white his teeth looked—none missing. "So, how'd you end up here?"

"Nathaniel had two tickets and Cora is off this weekend. Meant to be, I guess."

"Nice!" He touched the back of her hand.

She smiled and entwined her fingers with his. "You OK with going to Cora's?" she murmured so only he could hear.

"Sure," he replied and squeezed her hand.

"Do you like making lasagna?" Cora asked him.

"I like eating it. Never made it, though."

"Well, tonight's your chance to learn!" Cora chortled.

They discussed the logistics of getting to Cora's house; it was decided that Cora and Allie would ride together and Nathaniel and Chris would each drive themselves, Chris following Nathaniel.

In the car, Allie couldn't help but smile. She felt, for the first time in months, genuinely happy. She'd enjoyed the game and hanging with Cora. And now, the four of them had planned an evening together. It felt so normal. Something Allie hadn't experienced in a long while.

"You look happy," Cora said.

"I am. At least for now," Allie amended.

"Don't be so pessimistic," Cora replied. After a pause she said, "It's really good to see you smiling again."

* * *

Once they'd arrived, they shucked their coats; the guys pulled their jackets and ties off and rolled up their sleeves—ready to get to work. Cora put on some music-mellower songs by bands like Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Stone Temple Pilots—then divided them into teams: she and Chris in the kitchen to get the lasagna started, and Nathaniel and Allie to set the table, which included opening a bottle of Chianti.

The open layout of Cora's house allowed them to be in separate areas doing separate tasks without being isolated from one another.

Before too long, Cora had tied aprons around herself and Chris. Hers read simply, "Kiss the cook!" Printed on the one Chris wore was "I love hot buns!" Two steaming buns graced the bib.

"Is this like an initiation or something?" Chris asked, pointing to his apron.

"What, you don't like hot buns?"

"We just met, Cora, I'm not sure I should get that personal with you so soon!" he laughed.

"My family always does tacky gift exchanges at Christmas. These were my dad's contributions last year and I was the lucky winner!"

Cora tossed him a wrapped hunk of parmesan cheese and had him grating it while she set a large pot of water on the stove to boil. As she gathered the remaining ingredients, they made small talk, chatting a bit about their families, their respective jobs. At one point, Chris laughed so hard at something she said that the block of cheese he'd been grating flipped out of his hand and landed on the floor.

"Shit!"

In a flash, Cora bent and retrieved the parmesan. "10-second rule!" she exclaimed laughing, "no worries! A little bit of dirt is good for the immune system."

* * *

On the other side of the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining room, Allie stood watching the two of them interact.

Nathaniel poured the wine and ambled into the kitchen, bearing two glasses. "Can you two handle drinking and cooking at the same time?" he asked them.

"Are you kidding," Cora said, "it's my secret ingredient!"

"What, pouring wine down your throat while you stir the pasta?" Nathaniel asked and kissed her cheek. They all laughed.

Nathaniel came back around the counter to Allie and offered her a glass. "Thanks." After a brief pause, she said so only he could hear, "She's amazing."

"I agree," he replied.

"She's so laid back with people. You'd think those two have known each other for years."

"Yeah. She's pretty special."

"She is. I don't know what I would have done without her these last few years."

"Allie," he murmured. The tone of his voice drew her full attention. "I know a little about what you've been through since your parents died. Wait," he said, taking her arm before she could turn away. Heat bloomed on her cheeks. "Cora didn't tell me. I figured it out myself."

Her hand holding the glass shook a bit as she took a deep breath and glanced up at him. His eyes looked kind, trustworthy. He continued, "I just want you to know that we're here . . . Cora and I both. We're here for you. You're not alone." He released her arm.

Tears welled in her eyes and she turned her back to the kitchen. She swallowed, trying to calm her breathing, quell her shaking hands. "Thank you," she managed. Nathaniel rubbed her shoulder. She hadn't felt this looked-after, this _safe_ in so long, it was overwhelming and she braced a hand on the dining room table to steady herself.

"You OK?"

"Yeah. I'm just . . ." she turned to him, looked directly into his aquamarine eyes and simply repeated, "thank you."

He nodded then said, "We better get this table set or we'll have hell to pay!"

* * *

Despite her attempt to hide what was happening, Chris glanced over and saw Nathaniel place his hand on Allie's shoulder. He froze, watching and wondering. Was she crying? Then he saw her smile at something Nathaniel said and they continued setting the table.

"Chris?" Cora touched his arm.

With eyes riveted on Allie he asked, "Cora, can I ask you something?" He turned back to his new task of shredding a hunk of mozzarella.

"Sure."

"How long have you known Allie?"

"You know about her parents?" He nodded. She continued, "Since then. I worked in ICU at the time. That's how I got to know her." After a pause, she said, "Let me ask _you_ something. Are you serious about her or are you just trying to get into her pants?"

Chris stopped shredding and looked at Cora. "You don't mince words, do you?"

"Not when it involves people I love and care about."

He glanced again at Allie and Nathaniel who were just placing the last of the silverware next to each plate. He turned back to Cora. looked directly at her and said in a low voice, "She got to me. I'm not sure when or how, but there's something about her. She's sweet and gentle, but tough, too. And funny. She has a sense of humor when she's not scared out of her mind."

Cora stared at him like she was peering deep into his soul. He tried to keep his defenses down; he wanted her to see that he really did care about Allie. "She's had some rough times over the past couple of years. She needs to know she can trust you."

Without breaking her gaze, he said, "She _can_ trust me. I'll do my best to prove it to her. If she'll let me."

Cora looked at him a long time, nodded slightly and said, "I'm trusting you. If you do anything to break that trust, you will regret it."

And Chris had no doubt he would. "You know anything about a blond-haired guy she might know?" He could tell by the startled look on her face that she did.

"You've seen him?"

Chris told her about the incident in the parking lot when Allie had suddenly changed her mind about going with him to dinner after the guy in the sedan had shown up.

"She didn't mention that."

"I think he might have keyed her car, too."

"What?"

"She didn't tell you that, either?" Cora shook her head. "She said it wasn't him. That they'd had some incidents of vandalism in the parking lot at the preschool, but I didn't really believe her. I mean, when this guy pulled in . . . her face. Christ, Cora, she was . . . 'terrified' is the only word to describe it."

Cora took a deep breath and was about to speak when Nathaniel came in, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. "Hey, no distracting the cook!" she giggled.

"I'm just doing what the cook wants," he replied, referring to the apron she wore.

Chris turned to Allie who sat on a stool on the other side of the counter sipping her wine and grinning at the antics of Cora and Nathaniel. He drifted over and rested his forearms on the counter between them. "I can't believe you came to the game." Her gaze lingered a moment before turning to him. Tonight, she looked positively radiant, her short, dark blonde hair framing her pretty face, her big, grey eyes sparkling. Slightly dazed, he asked, "So, uh, what'd you think?"

"It was interesting," she replied, "more exciting in person than on TV. I mean, you guys really smash into each other pretty hard."

"That bother you?"

"A little. But I also noticed how fearless you are when you play. It was impressive."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "But I'm glad there weren't any fights." She slid one hand across the counter towards him. He reached out, met her fingertips and enveloped her hand in his. As he had in the restaurant, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, never taking his eyes off her.

"Me too," he murmured against her skin.

"Hey, back to work, slacker!" Cora said just as Chris began inching closer to Allie. He really wanted to kiss her, but wasn't sure how she'd react in front of her friends. And he was certain Cora would kick his ass if he upset Allie tonight.

"I finished shredding the mozzarella already," he retorted, not breaking Allie's gaze.

"You think that's all there is to making lasagna? It's time to actually make it!"

He straightened up, but didn't let go of Allie's hand. "Damn, EA, she's a drill sergeant!"

"Don't I know it," Nathaniel replied. He sauntered out of the kitchen and sat down next to Allie. "It's usually me she's bossing around, but I get a break tonight. Thanks!"

"Geez, if I knew I was going to have to work so hard for my meal, I might have thought twice about coming over," Chris said grinning as he reluctantly let go of Allie's hand. "I need some fortification." He took a big gulp of wine. "Private Tobias reporting for duty, sergeant" he said, turning towards Cora and snapping to attention.

"Shut up and get over here and help me layer this baby! You'll thank me when you leave here with newfound knowledge of how to make lasagna! Then you can make it for us sometime!"

Chris appreciated her reference to getting together in the future. He hoped it would nudge Allie a little more in his direction.

Cora and Chris worked together layering ricotta cheese, and the ground beef and sauce mixture Cora had cooked the day before, between wide ribbons of pasta. After covering the casserole with aluminum foil, Chris popped it into the oven. "You are relieved, soldier. Allie, help me make the salad?" she asked.

As Chris and Allie passed one another between the kitchen and the dining room, he took her wrist, rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand and murmured, "I wish I was wearing Cora's apron." Her cheeks pinked and she looked down at the dark hardwood floor then back up at him. To his surprise, she leaned up and kissed him briefly on the lips before strolling into the kitchen; a small smile graced her face. He held her hand until their arms extended between them.

Before she shook him off, she turned and smiled at him. "I have work to do," she said, "you know how demanding 'The Sergeant' can be!" Finally, he let her go.

As he sat down next to Nathaniel at the counter, Pearl Jam's "Just Breathe" came on and he gazed at Allie as he listened to the music:

Yes I understand  
That every life must end  
As we sit alone  
I know someday we must go

Yeah I'm a lucky man  
To count on both hands  
The ones I love  
Some folks just have one  
Yeah others they got none

Stay with me  
Let's just breathe

Practised on our sins  
Never gonna let me win  
Under everything  
Just another human being

I don't want to hurt  
There's so much in this world  
To make me believe

Stay with me  
All I see

Did I say that I need you?  
Did I say that I want you?  
Well, if I didn't then I'm a fool, you see  
No one knows this more than me  
'Cause I come clean

I wonder everyday  
As I look upon your face  
Everything you gave  
And nothing you would take  
Nothing you would take  
Everything you gave

Did I say that I need you?  
Did I say that I want you?  
Well, if I didn't then I'm a fool, you see  
No one knows this more than me  
I come clean

Nothing you would take  
Everything you gave  
Hold me 'till I die  
Meet you on the other side

by Eddie Vedder

* * *

Allie stood at the farm house style sink rinsing lettuce in a bowl of water as Cora sliced tomatoes and cucumbers. "I like him, Allie," she confided in a low voice.

"You do?"

"Would you look at the freaking apron I made him wear! You think that was by chance?"

Allie laughed. "I did wonder about that."

"He asked me about Stephen."

"What?"

"Not by name, but he asked if I knew anything about a blond haired guy you might know."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. Nathaniel interrupted us."

Allied breathed a sigh of relief.

"He also told me about your car being keyed. Allie, why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged. "I don't know for sure he did it. And I'm trying to put him behind me."

"But he's not letting you. And now he's seen you with Chris."

Allie stilled. "Yeah. That worries me."

"You're not alone, Allie."

"Nathaniel said the same thing."

"I didn't tell him—"

"I know. He said he figured it out for himself," Allie said as she poured the water out of the lettuce bath, dumped the wet leaves into a colander and set them aside to air dry. "Do you think Chris has any idea?"

"I'm not sure. But he might be starting to put two-and-two together. He won't hear it from me, though. This is your story and it's up to you to decide _if_ and when to confide in him."

"Thanks, Cora. That means a lot to me."

* * *

The lasagna came out perfectly—the noodles "al dente" and the edges just a tiny bit crunchy; the meat and cheeses complimenting each other. A second bottle of wine was opened and Cora kept them all laughing with stories from the ER—names changed to protect the innocent, of course! Allie loved her dearly even though she sometimes felt a little overshadowed by her big personality. But tonight, Chris, sitting across from her at the candle-lit table, directed little smiles at her and at one point, an affectionate sort of half wink, half nose wrinkle she'd never seen before. A sweet warmth enveloped her as she gazed at him, his amber skin glowing bronze in the candlelight, his eyes glinting. She felt almost drunk with his presence and wanted so much to reach out and touch him, but refrained.

Cora was sitting next to her, Nathaniel next to Chris. As Nathaniel poured another round, Cora said, "So, Chris, you have a unique middle name, at least I consider it unique: Christopher Uncas Tobias. Do you realize your initials spell 'CUT?'"

"Yeah, but luckily, my nickname is 'Fox.' I wouldn't want to be known as 'CUT!'"

"'Fox?' There's a story there, I bet."

"'Uncas' is a family name passed down on my father's side. It's 'Fox' in Mohican. You ever hear of Uncasville, Connecticut?"

"Sure!" Cora replied.

"My father's ancestors are from the area and family lore is we're related to that Uncas. He was a great chief. He didn't die like in that movie."

"That movie always makes me feel so sad and drained whenever I watch it," Allie confessed.

"It's a tough one," Nathaniel agreed then said, "I grew up around that area myself. So your father is Mohican?"

"Yeah. And my mom is Inuit."

"How'd your parents even meet?" Cora, ever curious, asked.

"My mom is a traditional Inuit dancer. My mom and dad met at a Gathering of Nations event in Rhode Island. They don't talk too much about it except that my mom says she told my dad if he wanted to be with her, he'd have to move to Canada. He did."

"Sounds kind of romantic," Cora said.

Chris just smiled.

After dinner, the four of them cleaned up then sat on two overstuffed love seats in Cora's living room in front of a fireplace. She flipped a switch and the flames came to life. "Nice," Chris said, settling next to Allie, his arm draped behind her across the back of the couch. Cora had changed the music to the reflective, halcyon jazz of Bill Evans, matching the mellow mood that had settled over them all.

"I love my gas fireplace," she said. "It's so great to come home after a tough shift in the ER and just flip a switch and have a lovely fire going right away." She toed off her shoes and tucking her feet under her, snuggled against Nathaniel on the other love seat. He kissed the top of her head, his arm around her shoulders.

"Cora, you said you were in ICU. Why'd you switch to ER?" Chris asked.

"I was in ICU about 5 years. I switched to ER because I really like the immediacy of it all. The fast pace. ICU can be draining. Well, so can ER, but things happen so fast, it's harder to get too emotionally involved."

"I can see that," he replied. He looked at Allie and wondered if talk of ICU brought back too many sad memories for her. "You OK?" he asked.

She looked up at him and smiled. "Fine. Thanks," she replied then leaned her shoulder against his. His eyebrows shot up and he slid his arm around her, pulling her just a little bit closer. His fingertips brushed delicately along her arm through the thin sweater she wore.

Chris didn't remember a night he'd enjoyed more in a long time. It was like the world outside had vanished; time slowed, allowing them to relax and enjoy something as simple as a delicious meal shared with new friends.

They chatted a while longer until Chris noticed the time: 10:00 PM. "I hate to break this up, but I've got to go. Game tomorrow night. I need to get a good night's sleep." He shifted and Allie sat up. "You need a ride home?" he asked her. She looked tired but very alluring with her sleepy eyes, hair slightly mussed.

"If it's not out of your way," she said as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"Not a problem."

* * *

They said their good-byes, Chris and Nathaniel shaking hands, Allie and Cora hugging.

"I think he's one of the good guys," Cora whispered into Allie's ear.

Allie hugged her tightly. "I hope so," she replied.

"And he's hot and nice, and you're not dead."

Allie burst out laughing as she pulled away. "Oh, my god, Cora!" She rolled her eyes. Cora winked.

Next, Allie hugged Nathaniel and he gave her a tight squeeze. "Remember what I said, Allie."

As they parted, she nodded up at him.

Cora unabashedly hugged Chris. "We should do this again sometime."

"I agree," he said, hugging her back. "Thanks for dinner and teaching me how to make lasagna!"

From a window next to the front door, Cora and Nathaniel watched Allie and Chris walk hand in hand down the pathway. They both wore long black coats; Chris' head was bare but Allie wore a black beret and red leather gloves. He opened the door for her and held her elbow as she hopped up into his truck. "He seems like a nice guy," Cora said.

Nathaniel nodded. "I think so. I've never heard about any off-ice issues."

"I hope he's as good as he seems."

"Me, too," Nathaniel replied as he pulled Cora away from the window and into his arms. He nuzzled her neck. "That was truly a delicious dinner. Now it's time for dessert," this as he slipped his hand beneath her sweater and ran his fingers along the soft skin of her belly.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Music for this chapter:

When Chris plays hockey or fights on the ice:

"Unglued" by Stone Temple Pilots from Purple

"The Hand That Feeds" by Nine Inch Nails from With Teeth

I do not own "Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam.

Thank you:

Mohawk Woman for the saying on the apron Cora made Chris wear, and how Cora came to possess two aprons with funny sayings on them, as well as for the back story of how Chris' parents met.

To my husband for coming up with the Blades logo.

To my oldest friend in the world (the long-time ER nurse) for suggesting reasons why Cora may have wanted to switch from ICU to ER.

BrynnaRaven for letting me use a slight variation of something she said about Chris and Allie, which to me sounded so much like something Cora would say (and it made me laugh out loud): "He's hot and nice, and she's not dead!"

And to all you readers and reviewers: I cannot tell you how much re-writing this story has offered me a refuge from some difficult times both in the world at large and in my own little personal world. You all inspire me to be a better writer while allowing me to hang out with some of my favorite characters!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"River of Deceit"

My pain is self-chosen  
At least, so the prophet says  
I could either burn  
Or cut off my pride and buy some time  
A head full of lies is the weight, tied to my waist

The river of deceit pulls down, oh oh  
The only direction we flow is down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down

My pain is self-chosen  
At least I believe it to be  
I could either drown  
Or pull off my skin and swim to shore  
Now I can grow a beautiful shell for all to see

The river of deceit pulls down, yeah  
The only direction we flow is down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down

The pain is self-chosen, yeah  
Our pain is self-chosen  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down  
Down, oh down

Songwriters: Barrett Martin / John Saunders / Layne Staley / Mike Mccready (Mad Season)

River of Deceit lyrics © Songtrust Ave

* * *

"That is wild that Cora is dating EA!" Chris exclaimed as they drove in his truck to Allie's house.

"I found out at Thanksgiving that he's a scout," she replied.

"Yeah?" After a brief pause, he continued, "And Cora! She cracks me up! She just _is_ who she _is_ , you know? She must be an awesome ER nurse."

"She's my best friend," Allie said, "and yeah, she's a terrific nurse. She did so much for me when my parents were in ICU. She's very giving. I feel really lucky I met her."

"I'm glad she was there for you," Chris replied as they pulled up to Allie's house. "I'll walk you to your door." He climbed out of his truck and trotted around to open the passenger side door before Allie could do so, held out a hand to help her down.

"Thanks," she said. Hand-in-hand, they strolled up the walkway to her front door. The outside light, set to a sensor, came on automatically, revealing a simple wreath decorated with a few pine cones and a burgundy bow adorning her front door. Before pulling her key out of her pocket, she stopped, turned and looked up at him. "Thanks for going to Cora's tonight." Even through her leather glove, she could feel the sensation of his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"You know, it was a real sacrifice being forced to hang out with all of you and eat lasagna. I think you owe me one," he replied with a grin.

"Well, Cora _did_ make you wear that apron," she said, smiling.

"Now _that_ , you owe me for," he said. "EA's a good guy. And Cora made me feel really welcome." His eyes were roaming her face. "Know what my favorite part of the night was?"

"Eating the lasagna?" Allie quipped. She could not look away from his dark gaze.

He shook his head and lifted her hand. Slowly, finger by finger, he pulled off her glove. When her hand was bare, he placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. Her breath caught in her throat; he continually surprised her with his tenderness. "No," he whispered, "sitting with you in front of the fireplace." His gazed shifted to her lips as he leaned towards her, holding her hand between them against his chest, her glove fisted in his other hand.

She hadn't realized how much she wanted him to kiss her. When their lips met, it felt different than the first time they'd kissed. More ardent. More urgent. Maybe she was discovering who he really was, and maybe, even beginning to trust him. He slid her hand down and around his waist beneath his unbuttoned coat then wrapped his arm around her. The hand clutching her glove hovered by her cheek and finally settled on her shoulder, his thumb skimming the side of her neck.

Allie felt a longing she hadn't experienced since her very early days with Stephen. But even that did not compare with what she felt now. Then, her feelings were more desperate, with a fierce need to fend off loneliness. Now, she just wanted to be with Chris, feel his hands on her, his lips caress her skin, hear her name uttered in his deep, velvet voice. She wanted to smooth her hands across his body, discover all the hard angles and sharp edges and soft corners. It startled her when she realized she didn't want him to leave tonight. One hand fluttered up to his long, black hair; she ran her fingers through the soft strands then grabbed a fistful. He moaned deep in his throat and tilted her head with a gentle thumb, deepening their kiss. Her beret fell to the ground.

The fear that had become a part of her since her days with Stephen had not totally dissipated. She still felt a prickle of uncertainty, mistrusting her own judgment. But this man, this man did something to her—tossed her off balance. Not in an unpleasant way. It felt more like the exuberance after a roller coaster ride—there is fear entwined with the desire to do it all over again.

When they came up for air, he said, "Allie. Shit. You're killing me here."

She pulled back, "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Chris. I don't mean to."

He chuckled and rested his forehead against hers. "It's a compliment, sweetheart. I want you," he rasped. The little gasp that escaped her throat was barely audible, but Chris heard it. "Hey, hey, Allie." He leaned back and touched her cheek. "That doesn't mean I'm going to do anything you don't want me to do. Hell, I'll go home right now if you tell me to." He was still trying to catch his breath. "I just need to know if you want me. At all. Even just a little."

He couldn't know that her reaction had not been because of his admission, but because of the endearment he'd used. Stephen had called her "sweetheart" often, but after their first few months together it had no longer felt affectionate. When Chris said it, it became an accolade.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up into his face. "Chris, I'm not . . . I mean I do . . . want you," she ended on a whisper and cast her eyes down.

With a gentle finger, he tilted her chin up. "I can work with that," he said with a half smile. "We'll take it at your speed. OK?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you," she murmured.

He pulled her close once more and just held her. She wrapped her arms around him and hung on. It felt right. And so good. She buried her face against his chest, breathed in his scent, which made her think of frost and pine on a cold winter morning.

"Damn, Allie. I don't want to leave, but I have to get some sleep." He pulled back, skimmed his hands up her arms, over her shoulders, along her neck and finally, up to her cheeks. Slowly, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers so lightly, once, twice, then with more fervor. She responded by rising up on her tiptoes and draping her arms around his neck. Her tongue drifted along his lips and without hesitation, he opened his mouth, lifted her up so that the tips of her shoes barely touched the ground.

She sighed against him as their tongues retreated. He buried his face in her dark blonde hair and dropped a small kiss above her ear. Finally, they pulled apart. He bent and retrieved her beret. Her fingers drifted along his shoulders; she wanted to maintain a physical connection as long as she could. He stood and held out her beret and glove, saying, "Tomorrow . . ."

She took his offering. When he didn't continue, she raised her eyebrows and said, "Tomorrow . . . what?" Her hands floated to his forearms and she rested them there.

"If you're free, you want to come to my place? I rent a house with Evan McMurray—we're good friends—actually, we live next door to Sweet Jess!" When she nodded he continued, "We'll be eating late in the afternoon. His girlfriend Jackie will be there, too. You want to come over and share our pre-game meal?"

He looked a little unsure, which Allie found hard to resist. "That would be really nice, Chris. What can I bring? An apron maybe?"

"Uh, no thanks. But I appreciate the offer!" he laughed. "Just yourself. I'll text you my address."

"OK."

"Thanks for tonight. And for coming to the game. It means a lot to me."

She smiled. "I liked watching you play," she confessed. "How are your calves?"

"Not too bad," he grinned. "I like watching you . . . anytime." After a pause where they continued gazing into one another's eyes, he said, "And now I'm going to watch you unlock your door, go into your house, and lock the door behind you before I leave."

"You don't—"

"I want to." And he kissed her one more time before stepping back.

Once in the house, Allie closed the door and clicked the lock into place.

"Good night," Chris said from the other side. "Nice wreath," he added.

"Thanks!" she replied, "Good night."

She was still a little surprised at the day she'd had and how much she'd enjoyed it. Even the game. She didn't think she'd ever become a hardcore fan but at least now she understood it a little better and appreciated the skill required to play, the occasional glimpses of beauty in a crisp pass or a perfect shot.

She chucked off her shoes, dropped her phone on the hall table, and padded to the kitchen. It was just after 11:00, and she was feeling a little wound up. After getting herself a glass of water, she sat on one of the bar stools at her counter and swung her legs back and forth. Still caught up in the mood of the day and her growing feelings for Chris—yes, she had to admit it—she was definitely starting to fall for him. She just hoped she wasn't tumbling into a dark abyss once again.

A knock at the front door broke into her thoughts. Smiling, she headed back to the foyer. It would be like him to pop back over for one more kiss. She unlocked the door and flung it open. "Did you . . ." Her voice died in her throat and she threw herself against the door in an attempt to slam it shut. But Stephen thrust it open, propelling her back. With the heel of his boot, he kicked the door shut, the wreath swaying with the action.

* * *

Chris drove carefully through Allie's neighborhood. The streets were quiet now—her area was a bedroom community, even on a Saturday night. Two blocks out he made a left as a silver sedan turned right onto the street from which he'd just turned off. It took another three blocks before it hit him: a silver sedan turning onto Allie's street. He screeched to a halt on the empty road, closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what he'd just seen—did the driver have blond hair? "Shit," he said aloud, made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the intersection and headed back the way he'd come. Maybe he was acting paranoid but he felt a strong compulsion to drive by Allie's house and make sure everything was OK. The protective urge that had etched itself into his personality at the age of 12 resurfaced. Over the years, he had learned not to ignore it.

He didn't want to come on all stalker-ish, so a block away, he pulled over, and with the engine still running, texted Allie. When she didn't responded by the end of the song playing on the truck's radio, he called her cell; it went directly to voice mail. He tossed his phone on the passenger seat, shifted into first gear and tore away from the curb.

* * *

"Alice. My Alice. What are you doing, sweetheart?" Stephen asked. He crept across her foyer like a hunter stalking its prey.

Allie flinched at the endearment and backed up. When her heels hit the steps she stopped, clenched her fists.

"What. Are. You. Doing," he repeated. He stopped inches from her. "Tobias? Really? You don't even like hockey." When she remained silent he continued, "Alice, Alice, Alice. Don't try to hide it. I saw you with him." He reached up, gripped her shoulders and shook her gently.

"We're just . . . friends," she quavered, hating the tremble in her voice. She didn't want to be weak in front of him or let him see how afraid he made her feel.

"Oh, yeah?" His hands slid down to her arms. "You must be fucking _best_ friends, then. That's it! You're 'fucking friends!'" he shouted, his face lowering until he was eye to eye with her. "You think he gives a shit about you?" he hissed. "He can have any girl he wants. Why would he want you?"

Allie drew in a sharp breath because of course she'd wondered the same thing sometimes. But the kisses they'd shared, his eyes when he gazed at her, convinced her otherwise and afforded her the resolve she needed to ignore Stephen's attempt to demean her. "Let me go," she whispered. He tightened his grip. "Stephen, you're hurting me."

"Poor thing," he said and released one of her arms. Before she could react, he grabbed her cheeks and squeezed, bending her back so that the railing pressed into her spine. Then he swatted her across the face. It knocked her off balance but he jerked her against his chest and tried to kiss her.

Dear God, she just couldn't, not after the kisses she'd shared with Chris. She twisted her head so that his mouth landed on her ear.

"C'mon, Alice," he whined and dragged his lips to hers. She pushed against him and when that didn't loosen his hold, she bit his lower lip. Not hard enough to break skin, but just enough to shock him. "Bitch!" He yanked her by the hair and held her head back, his eyes roaming her face. "You should have kept your hair long." This time, when he smacked her across the mouth she tasted blood. He shoved her to the floor and kicked her in the ribs. She cried out.

Her cell phone, sitting on the hall table, dinged. This distracted Stephen enough so that he seemed momentarily confused, his eyes darting around, searching for the source of the sound.

With no escape plan in mind except to get away, she crawled to the door, reached for the knob and pulled herself up. A sharp pain streaked across her ribs. Stephen's hands snatched at her from behind. She kicked her foot back as hard as she could, her heel connecting with his shin. The blow vibrated through her whole body but she knew it wouldn't be enough to stop him.

"Fuck!" Stephen barked and released her. She wrenched open the door. He grabbed her sweater and hauled her off her feet. She fell against his legs. "Not so fast, sweetheart," he said, as he turned and flung himself against the door, slamming it shut. She thought she heard a soft thump from the other side, as if the wreath had been knocked off its hook. He dragged her by the sleeve; the seam along the shoulder ripped and he lost his grip. She surged forward out of his grasp and slid along the floor, crawling to the steps.

Her cell phone rang.

"What the fuck?!" Stephen yelled. He snatched the phone from the table and threw it across the hall into the living room.

She turned to face him. Her lower back bumped against the stairs. Hands braced on the riser behind her, she pushed herself up a step at a time trying to put distance between herself and Stephen, trying to figure out how she might get out of this.

He advanced leisurely, like he had all night long. His grin was feral but his voice sounded so reasonable when he said, "You are being really uncooperative, Alice." When he reached the bottom of the steps, he knelt, grabbed her ankle, and jerked; she had lifted herself about 5 steps up. The back of her head smacked against one of the treads as he dragged her down. An involuntary sob escaped, causing a few tears to spill over. But she inhaled deeply and for all she was worth, kicked out, slamming his arm, his chin. He yelped and released her. Before she could crawl away he grabbed her slender neck. She could tell by his eyes that he was gone; he would not hear her pleas. His fingers began to squeeze. Blindly, she reached out and raked her short nails down his cheek; she didn't draw much blood but her actions forced him to pull back and loosen his grip slightly.

Banging on the front door froze him in place. Unbelievably, Allie heard Chris' voice calling her name.

Stephen's head whipped around. "Fuckin'—A!" He turned back to her. "Get rid of him," he grunted.

Instead, survival instincts surging through her, she screamed his name.

"Allie!" Chris bellowed again. The door swung open with such force, it bounced off the wall.

Stephen released her and ran towards the back of the house.

The porch light behind Chris outlined his large frame hovering on the threshold. Oddly, her wreath dangled from his right hand.

* * *

As he strode into the foyer, Chris dropped Allie's wreath onto the hall table. His eyes traveled over her. She was pushing herself into a sitting position. He bent and helped her sit up, cradling her in his arms. "Jesus Christ, Allie." A door slammed somewhere at the back of the house. "Where is he?"

"He ran out the back door," she croaked.

He turned his head to the open front door still swaying slightly from the force of his entry. A blond man was running towards the car parked in front of her house. "Fucking son of a bitch," he growled, quickly settling Allie against the banister. He took off, shedding his coat as he ran; he wanted nothing to restrict his movements. His eyes were nailed to the asshole who had hurt Allie. Just as he reached the car, the engine roared to life. He pounded the roof with the sides of his fists as the guy pulled out in a squeal of tires. Staggering to catch his balance, he watched the fucker drive away before he sprinted back to the house. The porch light at a neighbor's house flicked on, but Chris didn't stop. He closed the door behind him and locked it. He was glad it had been unlocked when he'd returned; if it hadn't, he would have busted the damn thing down and owed Allie a new door.

Allie was trying to rise, one hand braced on a step, the other holding her right side. Without a word, he kicked aside his coat and went to her. He bent and lifted her into his arms then stood holding her against his chest. She sucked in a breath. "Damn," he muttered, "I'm sorry. Trying not to hurt you more." He strode into the living room and sat on the couch with her in his lap. His eyes searched her face and he noted the small trickle of blood on her lower lip, finger marks on her cheeks. He tilted her chin up and swore quietly when he saw the bruises forming along her neck.

A haunted look crept over her face—vacant eyes staring at nothing. She looked broken. Defeated. He swallowed, pushed the hair back from her face, kissed her forehead then pulled her to him. He could hear her labored breathing. "Allie," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her, "you're safe. He's gone." And suddenly, it was as if all she'd been holding in burst forth. Sobs ripped out of her and tore into him as her fingers twisted into his shirt, gripping it like a lifeline. She buried her face against his chest where his heartbeat thudded in her ears. His arms enfolded her and he rocked her gently. "That's it, sweetheart. Let it out. Let it out."

When Allie's sobs finally lessened, turning into silent tears, she wiped her eyes and drew in a long breath. She leaned back and looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

He touched her lips to silence her. "I should take you to the hospital."

"No. No, please."

"You're hurt—"

"I'm OK. Maybe some ice—I hit my head on the steps."

"And your ribs?"

"Probably just bruised. They can't do anything even if there's a crack or break. Please Chris. I'm . . . I don't want to go anywhere."

"At least let Cora know. Let her check you out."

"Tomorrow morning."

He stared at her a moment and understood that he wouldn't be able to convince her otherwise nor did he want to force her to do anything she didn't want to do. She'd probably had more than enough of that kind of treatment. "I'll get ice."

She nodded.

He slid her off his lap and set her gently on the couch before following the light from the kitchen. The back door stood open. "Fucking coward," Chris thought as he slammed the door shut and locked it.

In the freezer, he found two gel ice packs and wrapped one in a dishtowel that hung on the empty dish rack. He searched a few drawers until he found more dishcloths. He grabbed two, wrapping one around the second gel pack and wetting the other before returning to the living room.

Allie sat with her feet tucked under her; big, fearful eyes following his every step. When he sat beside her, he asked, "Where?" She touched the back of her head just above her neck. Silently, he held the cold pack in place. As he handed her the other one he said, "For your ribs." She took it and pressed it to her side where Stephen had kicked her. Using the wet dishtowel, he dabbed at the blood that had seeped from a cut on the inside of her lip. "Am I hurting you?"

Red tinged her cheeks as she murmured a negative response.

When he finished, he tossed the dishtowel onto the coffee table then gazed directly at her. "You're safe with me, Allie. I won't hurt you." His eyes traveled to her arm where the sleeve of her torn sweater hung. He pushed the fabric into place and held his hand over it. "Damn," he rasped, "I'm sorry. I should have gotten back here sooner."

"How did you . . . how did you even . . ." she choked on her words, unable to continue.

"Later. Rest."

"The game. You have to get some sleep."

"Allie," he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."

She stared at him and he wondered what she saw in his face. Finally, she nodded and he pulled her tightly against him. Soon, her eyes drooped and the gel pack she held against her ribs slipped from her fingers. Chris caught it and tossed it aside along with the one he'd held at the back of her head. She seemed to be sleeping soundly within the circle of his arms. Matching his breathing to hers, he sat silent, still, and listened for odd sounds, anything that might indicate someone was trying to break into Allie's house.

* * *

For Chris, as realization dawns . . .

"Once upon a time I was of the mind

To lay your burden down

And leave you where you stood

And you believed I could

You'd seen it done before

I could read your thoughts

Tell you what you saw

And never say a word

Now all that is gone

Over with and done, never to return"

from "Shadow of the Sun" by Audioslave

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own the rights to any of the music for this chapter:

"River of Deceit" by Mad Season – originally, this was not the theme of the chapter, but as the story moved on, I realized that the lyrics to this song really captures Allie's feelings at this point.

"Hyperpower!" by Nine Inch Nails (the first track on Year Zero) – when Stephen pushes his way into Allie's house

"Ghosts II" (track 14 on Ghosts I-IV) by Nine Inch Nails written by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – once Stephen is in the house

"Slither" by Velvet Revolver – playing on the radio when Chris pulls over to text Allie

"Jesus Christ Pose" by Soundgarden - Chris driving back to Allie's and going after Stephen. Besides the amazing driving rhythm and chaos of the song, something Chris Cornell said about the video fits the situation perfectly: "It was a pretty unanimous decision by the band to have a woman being crucified in the video . . . As a visual, it's powerful and it's also challenging to people, because women basically have been persecuted since before recorded history, and it would almost make more sense than seeing a man on it." (Soundgarden Rail Against the "Jesus Christ Pose" in New and Gripping Video. Levine Schneider Public Relations. October 30, 1991)

"Shadow of the Sun" written by Chris Cornell, Brad Wilk, Tim Commerford, Tom Morello

A big thank you to my husband who helped me figure out how to get Chris back to Allie's house. Chris was being remarkably reticent about it!

I'm sorry it took so long to post this chapter. I was wrestling with a lot here because Chris was really itching to find out what the hell has been going on with Allie but I didn't want her to get scared away again, as she very well may have. And I didn't want Chris to give up.

As always, reviews are appreciated and helpful—even well after the chapter is posted because I consider all my writing to be "works in progress" which can always be improved upon. (And this chapter seems to still need some improvements.) Your comments help! As always, thank you for reading (and reviewing)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Allie stirred. Felt arms encircling her, a hard shoulder beneath her cheek, the smell of frost and pine on a cold winter morning. She jerked fully awake and pushed against the body into which she was curled, sucked in a painful breath.

"Allie. It's OK. You're safe."

Chris' voice stopped her and she gazed up into his face. He looked exhausted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep. What time is it?"

"About 1:00," he replied.

She tried to rise from his lap but he did not let her go. "Sleep," he said simply.

"You need to get some rest. You have your game."

"Doesn't matter."

"Chris. It does. Don't—"

He touched a finger to her lips, silencing her. "It's OK. Seriously, Allie. You think I would leave you alone right now? What if he comes back? He's a fucking asshole. Hurting you like that. He assaulted you. We should call the cops. God damn fucking bastard," his voice remained deadly quiet.

She closed her eyes, red coloring her cheeks. "It was my fault . . . I let him in," she admitted as she opened her eyes and allowed the tears to spill over once again. "I'm so stupid. I thought it . . . I thought it was—"

"You thought it was me," he cut her off softly.

She nodded and pressed a hand to her mouth.

"This is not your fault, Allie. None of this is your fault." She shook her head in denial. "Damn it," he hissed and tugged her hand from her mouth. He was shaking with anger, the fingers wrapped around her wrist tightening the slightest bit—not enough to hurt her, but she was still so raw from Stephen's attack that fear spiked through her. Allie shook her head, tears falling hard and silent, and tried to pull out of his grasp. She used her free hand to push off his chest. "Let me go," her voice rasped.

He released her immediately saying, "Allie. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She leapt off his lap.

"Did I hurt you? Shit. I'm . . . I didn't mean to scare you." He had not moved from the couch but just watched her steadily. She was gasping like she'd been running a long time. He reached out to her but she backed up a step. "God, Allie. I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" he repeated, holding his hands shoulder height, palms out in a gesture of submission.

Her gaze roamed his face and settled on his eyes, his dark chocolate eyes that seemed to show so much—empathy, concern, contrition, but not anger. It had dissipated as quickly as it had exploded. He hadn't hurt her but he'd startled her with that burst of anger, even though it was on her behalf. She took a steadying breath, swiped away any remaining tears with the back of her hand and shook her head.

"I swear to you, I will never hurt you like that, Allie," Chris vowed. When she didn't immediately reply he asked, "You believe me?" Waiting for her response, he seemed to stop breathing.

Her lips press together before she nodded and said, "I believe you, Chris."

He exhaled. "And anyway, Cora threatened to make me regret my whole life if I hurt you in any way, shape or form." His smile was small, tentative.

"That sounds like Cora," she said and cracked a brief, tiny smile.

Again, he held a hand out to her. This time, she went to him, sliding into his open arms. He tucked her against his shoulder and she nestled her head beneath his chin, wrapped her arms around him. "Allie, I'm sorry I didn't figure out what the hell was going on sooner." He kissed the top of her head. "I should have."

"I broke up with him before I even met you. There wasn't anything going on again until recently. And I . . . I didn't want you to know."

"Why not?"

She hesitated, squirmed a bit.

"Allie?" He tilted his head, looked directly at her.

She drew in a deep breath and replied, "I was embarrassed. Ashamed."

"Allie," he said her name in a tone full of sorrow, hurt. She looked up at him. He touched her cheek with a delicate finger.

"And I wasn't sure . . . didn't know if I could trust you."

"Ah, Allie. Sweetheart. You can trust me. I don't know how else to say it." His eyes were shimmering with what Allie thought might be unshed tears, but she wasn't sure until a lone drop rolled down his right cheek.

That this man should care so much for her moved her deeply. "Chris?" She reached up and touched the glistening drop.

He pulled her against his chest and cradled her in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head. "Shit. Allie, I'm no good with words. All I can do is tell you that you don't have to be afraid of me. And if that fucking bastard comes anywhere near you, I swear to God—"

"Chris, he's not worth it," she cut in.

"He fucking hurt you. How could anyone hurt you like that?" He pulled back and looked at her before continuing, "And I'm guessing he did this to you, too." With a thumb, he touched a spot above her right eyebrow. She closed her eyes at his tenderness. When she opened them, she read so many things in his gaze—care, reverence, desire, hope—but she didn't trust her interpretation of what she thought she saw. "Did he?"

She nodded.

"Sometime, when you're ready, will you tell me about it?"

She took a deep breath and nodded again before reaching her arms around his neck and clinging to him for all she was worth. After a few minutes, she said, "Chris, you really need to sleep."

"I'll be OK. You should get some rest. Why don't you go to bed? I'll sleep on the couch."

She leaned back and stared at him, amazed at the thoughts swirling around her head—she wanted to be near him tonight, wanted to be in physical contact with his warm, strong body and his tender touch. She hadn't felt this way about a man in a very long time, if ever. "You won't sleep well on the couch."

"If you have a spare room, I'll crash there."

He'd given her an out because how could she possibly tell him what she was feeling without giving him the wrong idea? She wanted to stay with him all night and _literally_ sleep within reach of him. She wasn't ready for anything more and her nerves were still bruised. But she was trying to be honest with herself—she understood that Chris was not Stephen. Not at all. He was someone special who seemed to think she was too.

* * *

Chris kicked off his shoes, tossed his shirt on a nearby chair, and settled on the bed in his pants and tank style white undershirt, not bothering to get under the covers. The room, at the back of the house, faced east. It was almost 2:30. The half moon shining in a cloudless sky offered some illumination and he lay back thinking about all that had happened since he'd brought Allie home. He was worried about her, but she'd assured him she would be fine. They'd kissed one more time before parting to go to separate rooms. He wanted to stay with her and just hold her. But he wanted her to initiate anything beyond what they'd share so far; he had to start proving to her that she could trust him, and this was a first step.

He left the door slightly open so he could hear any unusual noises or disturbances. Even though he didn't think he'd sleep much, he turned onto his left side, his back to the door, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Allie tried to sleep, tried to find a comfortable position that wasn't too painful. Her mind drifted back to Chris storming through her front door like a damn knight in shining armor. If it hadn't been unlocked when he'd returned she was sure she'd be replacing her front door later today. She wasn't someone who expected a man to come to her rescue but God, she was so grateful he had. A strong urge to be with him pulsed inside her like a heartbeat. But she couldn't just go to him—she was afraid he'd misinterpret her actions.

She got out of bed and paced her room; being upright felt better than lying flat. She stopped at the window, pushed the curtain aside and looked out; the half moon shone down. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass and closed her eyes. A chill crept into her bones and she shivered. What Stephen might be capable of scared the hell out of her. And now Chris knew. And he hadn't run away. Instead, he'd run back to her.

She pulled away from the window and wrapped her arms around herself. It was futile-she realized there was only one way she'd ever feel warm tonight. She could stand here and freeze or take another step forward, another step towards trust. She crept out of her room. Chris' door wasn't closed all the way; she pushed it open.

* * *

Chris woke from a light sleep when he felt the mattress depress slightly and a hand touch his shoulder. "Chris," Allie's soft voice echoed in the room.

He opened his eyes and turned over. "Allie? You OK?" The moon had moved across the sky. The first hint of dawn lightened the room enough so that he could see her eyes, large and uncertain, staring at him. She was wearing flannel lounge pants, a pair of socks, and a short-sleeved t-shirt. Not traditionally sexy nighttime attire, but damn, she looked really good to him right now, except for the bruises on her face and neck.

"Can I . . . can I stay here? With you?" she whispered.

He sat up and propped the pillow behind him. "Yeah. You OK?" he repeated.

"I couldn't sleep. And I couldn't get warm."

"You want to get under the covers? With your ribs, though, you should probably sleep sitting up. Come here," he murmured as he pulled her against him. "Get comfortable."

She shifted so her back pressed into his chest then tucked her feet beneath the comforter. He laid his left arm just below her collar bone, wrapped his hand around her shoulder, and laced the fingers of his right hand with hers. "I wasn't sure about this. Coming to your room, I mean."

"I'm glad you did," he replied, keeping his voice quiet and low. "I wanted to stay with you but I didn't want to push you or make you think I was looking for anything more than to hold you. I just want to be here for you."

"You can't know how much that means to me, Chris." She settled back, almost melting into his embrace. As he traced tiny patterns on her shoulder with his fingers, her free hand floated to the arm that lay across her. She rested her fingers there, her touch light.

They watched the sky outside the window turn magenta. Streaks of orange and yellow cut into the palette and lightened to lavender. As the room slowly brightened with the coming morning, she looked down. He felt her fingers trace the tattoo on his left bicep: four small, solid rectangles arranged in a cross pattern with a line of similar sized rectangles etched around his arm. "This is interesting, Chris. Does it have any special meaning?"

He kissed the top of her head, "My dad has the same tattoo. So does my grandfather. All the males on my dad's side have it to honor our ancestor, Uncas."

"What a beautiful tribute," she replied and settled back once again.

"You warm?" he asked.

"Mmmm Hmmm," she sighed. "Thank you."

Silently, they continued to watch the colors of the sky change minute by minute with the rising sun.

* * *

They sat on barstools at Allie's kitchen counter facing one another, sipping mugs of hot coffee. She'd thrown a sweatshirt over the t-shirt she'd worn to bed. Her sock-clad feet rested between his legs on a rung of his stool. His bare feet were braced on the floor on either side of her. Chris had just finished telling Allie how he ended up coming back to her house last night.

"I don't know how I can ever thank you."

He shook his head, "Nothing to thank me for."

Her eyes widened. "You're kidding, right?"

"No."

"Chris, he ran when you burst through the door like some kind of superhero or something."

"Allie, I am no superhero. Not even close," he mumbled, faltering a bit before continuing, "Guys like him are just cowards. They can dish it out but they sure as hell can't take it. Fucking ass wipe."

"To me, you are a hero. And super. So I think that makes you a 'superhero.'" Had she really just said that? Holy crap she was falling hard.

Chris' eyes searched hers and she wasn't sure what the serious look on his face meant. Then he chuckled, shook his head and said, "Yeah. OK. Call Cora."

Allie felt the heat rise in her cheeks and turned away. Jesus Christ, she was so stupid. She'd embarrassed him. "I have to find my phone," she said and hopped off the stool, stepping over his outstretched leg.

She stood in her living room trying to think about where the phone might have landed and still cursing herself for saying such a sappy thing. Chris' arms enveloped her from behind, held her loosely around her waist. "Allie, don't run away from me." He turned her to face him. "For you, I'll be whatever you want me to be. I just don't want to ever disappoint you. Not come through for you." His gaze would burn a hole through her soul, she was sure. He lowered his head towards her and she waited with anticipation for his soft lips to touch hers. When they did, she was unprepared for the strength of the jolt that sparked through her and seemed to grow with each kiss, each touch they shared. It was something she'd never experienced before.

When they broke apart, he leaned his forehead against hers. "Let me be here for you, Allie. You don't have to face this alone."

"You're going to make me cry again," she whispered.

"Don't want to do that. Let's look for your phone."

* * *

"She's coming over in about an hour," Allie said as she put her phone down. She'd found it under the couch. It was still functional. Amazingly, the screen hadn't cracked. She brought up the Pandora app and tuned it to Marc Carey; "Taiwa" played softly and they sat once again at her kitchen counter.

"I'll wait for her."

"You'll be late for practice."

"I don't want to leave you alone." His eyes were zeroed in on the marks on her cheeks and neck.

She looked down. "I'll be fine, Chris. Stephen usually works the day shift."

With a finger, he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Allie." His thumb slid along her jaw and he threaded his fingers through her hair. As he kissed the bruises on her cheeks then moved his lips to her neck, his other hand slipped to her lower back. Her breath caught in her throat. She reached up and buried her own fingers in the midnight strands that fanned his shoulders. After he kissed the purplish marks, he leaned away and said, "Damn. I'm so sorry you went through this shit. If I could take it all away, I would."

"I know," she replied. And as she looked into his eyes, she truly believed his words. This man had learned her vulnerability and instead of taking advantage of it, embraced her, comforted her, cared for her. Her hands moved to his broad shoulders. "I don't want to be the reason you don't get your workout in or whatever it is you have to do before your game." She ran her fingers against the stubble along his jaw. "You need a shave, too."

"I never shave on game day. Or the day before. Bad luck if I cut myself."

Allie laughed, surprised but happy she still had it in her. And she had this man to thank for it "Yeah? I never heard that one before."

"It's my own little superstition." After a brief pause he said, "I'm guessing you don't want to come over this afternoon?" His fingers traced circles along her lower back; hers toyed with a few strands of hair that had fallen over his shoulder.

"I don't want to meet Evan and Jackie looking like this. Make up won't really cover the bruises. Do you mind?"

"No," he declared, "I just want you to _feel_ safe and _be_ safe. I won't push you to do anything you don't want to do. Remember that, OK?"

"Thank you." She swiped at the tears welling in her eyes. "Damn and damn," she uttered, "I hate being so weepy."

He pulled her once again against his chest murmuring, "You've been to hell and back. Cry all you want."

* * *

She finally convinced him she would be alright if he left before Cora got to her house.

They'd re-hung her wreath. "Sorry about that," Chris said, fingering the wall where the doorknob had left a dent from his dramatic entrance the night before. "I'll fix it," he said.

She smiled because who the fuck cared about a small bit of damage to her wall when she was still in one piece?

As luck would have it, Cora and Chris met on the front walkway. Allie stood at the open front door and watched them converse. They took out their respective phones—must be exchanging cell numbers.

Cora looked up at Allie and waved. "Hi, honey!"

Chris turned back to her and she melted at the look he gave her. He raised his hand in a silent good-bye. She returned the gesture before he turned and sauntered to his truck. That easy gait of his always caught her eye. When the hell had she started noticing the way a man walks or carries himself? But Chris was a physical guy, an athlete, and she realized that the way he moved was a big part of who he was. Despite his height, he moved with a grace and fluidity that she found very attractive.

After briefly eyeing her bruises, Cora hugged Allie as Chris hopped into his truck. They watched him drive away before turning, and with arms about each other's waists, went into the house.

* * *

"Superhero Dream"

I had a dream that the world was calling

And I didn't know what to do

I'm so new at this Power thing

Who can teach me? Can you?

I see pyramids

I see bursting Spring

Can you teach me about strengthening?

I had a dream that we had a dream that the world was calling

And we didn't know what to do

We're so new at this Power thing

Who can teach us? Can you?

We see hurricanes

We see tidal waves

Can they teach us how to change and rearrange?

The bells of hope shall be

The superhero

The super strength

Of you and me

by Issa

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I do not own the rights to Pandora or any of the music or lyrics used in this chapter—but they are beautiful songs and seemed to fit Allie and Chris at this point in their relationship:

"Just Before Dawn" by Will Ackerman – when Allie is in her bedroom, unable to warm up and she goes to Chris and they watch the sunrise together.

"Taiwa" by Marc Cary from Focus; he is a fabulous jazz pianist. I am still new to his music but I highly recommend another piece called "Chappaquitic Woman." It was the first composition I ever heard by him and it blew my mind—really amazing!

"Superhero Dream" from Dragon Dreams by Issa, aka Jane Siberry – Jane is a Canadian singer/songwriter who is a performer not easily categorized (I used her more famous "It Can't Rain All the Time" in Chapter 5). She has written some fascinating music, has collaborated with k.d. lang and Joe Jackson, and actually made me cry at one of her concerts with her poignant lyrics.

To all you readers and reviewers, you are overwhelming me with your positive response to this story. I wasn't sure how it would go over between changing names and time periods, and veering away from the movie plot, so I thank you for your support! And I so appreciate your concern about Allie and your thoughts and observations on how she should handle the situation with Stephen. It all helps in sorting things out as I write. THANK YOU!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

He was going to be late for practice but he didn't give a damn. His head was filled with images of Allie and the bruises on her face and neck. At least that haunted look in her eyes had vanished before he'd left. And when he'd met Cora on the front walkway, she had assured him she would broach the subject of a restraining order with Allie again. By the time he arrived home to change, Evan had already left for the rink.

As Chris hopped into his truck, his phone dinged with a text.

Evan: U OK?

Chris: On my way.

Evan: U get lucky last night?

Chris: Not exactly.

The rest of the guys were already performing their second set of drills when Chris stepped onto the ice. "Tobias!" Coach yelled, "10 rounds of Suicide Drills after practice." Chris lifted his stick in acknowledgement without protest. He'd known Coach would punish him for being late; no excuses—except landing in the hospital or being dead—were accepted.

* * *

The rink was empty when Chris skated his last Suicide Drill. Damn he was tired—he hadn't gotten much sleep at Allie's. Not that he'd minded holding her as the sun came up. He was blown away by the fact that she'd come to his room. It spoke volumes of her growing trust in him. His relief at finally discovering what was going on was overshadowed by his anger at that bastard who was still in her life. He needed to decide what to do, how to move forward and make certain that she would continue to trust him. And figure out how to keep her safe.

As Chris entered the locker room, Evan stood in front of his own locker pulling on a pair of loose-fitting, button fly jeans. The "lockers" were a row of tall, open, wooden cubicles each fitted with a high shelf, a bench, and hooks. Behind him, Evan's skates rested on the shelf and his helmet and a clean uniform hung on hooks. Across from where he stood was a row of metal, cage-like cabinets that held extra equipment.

Evan's light blue plaid shirt hung open, revealing a firm, bronze torso. He was not as tall or as broad as Chris, but his muscled physique was no less impressive. "Fox, man, what happened? You're never late for practice." When Chris didn't answer immediately, Evan continued, "Is it this new girlfriend of yours? You said you didn't get lucky but you never came home last night. She giving you a hard time or what?"

Chris shook his head, still breathing heavily, and dropped down onto the bench of the cubicle next to Evan's. "Not her. Her ex," he replied.

"Husband?"

"Boyfriend."

"What's up?"

Just then, Fontaine appeared around the end of the row and eyed the two friends.

With a tilt of his head, Chris muttered, "Later."

Evan donned a straw fedora, angling it back on his head.

"What's with the hat, Otawindeht?"

"Jackie hates it." Evan snickered. "I wear it just to yank her chain."

Chris thought about Jackie's calm, patient demeanor and giving nature. She had medium length blonde hair and hazel-green eyes that always held a spark of curiosity. And she was a great cook. "You're a lucky bastard. You don't deserve her," he grinned.

"Yeah, I know," Evan laughed. "See you back at the house?"

Chris nodded.

* * *

As soon as he got home, Chris headed straight for his bedroom and crashed. He never heard Jackie and Evan making dinner in the kitchen of the ranch style house. Evan tried to rouse him when it was ready, but he mumbled and rolled over. About two hours before game time, he finally woke up shaking off an odd dream he couldn't remember except that it involved Allie; it had him feeling a little unsettled.

Jackie had kindly left him a plate of leftovers with a note, "Enjoy the spaghetti—I made the sauce myself!" He ate quickly while Evan asked him again about his new girlfriend.

"Allie."

"Allie?"

"Yeah. She works at Sweet Jess' preschool." Briefly, Chris told Evan the short version of how they'd met but offered no details about their slowly developing relationship. "There's some shit going on with her ex. I'm still trying to figure it out."

"That stinks, man. If I can help, you know. . ."

"Thanks, Otawindeht. I appreciate it."

* * *

Being totally off his regular game-day schedule made Chris feel like he was skating through slush. Consequently, he played lousy. Didn't win the one fight he'd been in—got his lip cut instead—missed most of his body checks. The puck bounced over his stick twice. The second time, it led to a turnover and the go-ahead goal for the opposition. Finally, Coach benched him midway through the third period. The Blades lost, 2 to 1.

After the game, Chris spent more time than usual in the shower trying to rinse away thoughts of how he'd played, thoughts of Allie—her bruises, her pain, and that fucking son of a bitch ex-boyfriend of hers. By the time he finished, most of his teammates were already dressed. Wearing a pair of grey, cotton boxer briefs, Chris sat on the bench of his cubicle, body hunched over, elbows braced on his thighs; he held his towel-draped head in his hands.

"Hey, Fox. What happened out there, man?" Evan asked as he sat on the bench next to Chris. Their teammates, scattered around the locker room, began leaving one-by-one. The atmosphere after the close loss was subdued and Chris felt responsible for allowing that second goal; he knew his mistake was a big part of the reason they'd lost. "You were not in the game tonight. Since I've been with the team, I never saw you lose a fight like that. What's going on? This Allie's got you twisted up into knots."

Chris looked up from beneath the towel, rubbed a corner of it across his forehead then settled it around his neck. He plowed his fingers through his hair, loosening the wet strands so they hung against his back. "It's bad, Otawindeht."

"Seems like she's no good for you. You're late for practice. Your game-day routine is totally fucked up—"

"And I lost the game for us," Chris finished.

Fontaine, in white briefs and a short-sleeved t-shirt, ambled over. He plopped his left foot on the bench next to Chris and rested an elbow on his knee. "Jesus Christ, Tobias, you got your ass handed to you tonight. I could've beaten that Cementhead myself."

Chris had fought the opposition's enforcer who'd been all over Fontaine most of the game. While Chris never had a problem defending his teammates, he didn't like it when Fontaine used his stick on an opponent; that had been the case tonight. But it didn't matter what Fontaine did, it was still Chris' job to protect his teammates. This particular enforcer's strategy was to yank his opponent's jersey over his head forcing him to fight blindly. Chris always tied his jersey down to avoid this hazard. But apparently, tonight he hadn't done it properly; it had gotten pulled partway over his head during the fight. He'd lost his footing, fallen to his knees, and his opponent took advantage. He ended up with a cut lip and a bruised cheek.

Slowly, Chris turned his head away from Evan and looked up at Fontaine. "Yeah? Then fight your own goddamn battles. I can't protect the whole world. Including you, Fontaine," he said, his voice pitched low and deep.

Fontaine straightened, "You know, if you couldn't use your fists, you wouldn't be playing hockey. You're just a Plug. But I'd be careful if I were you. It seems like that warrior blood you're so proud of deserted you tonight."

"Fuck you," Chris said in a deadly calm voice. His hands grasped the ends of the towel around his neck.

A chuckle escaped Fontaine. "Did I hear Otter say you got woman trouble?"

Chris did not reply.

"Lay off, Le Rat," Evan said.

Fontaine glanced at Evan. "Who asked you? I'm talking to Warrior here." He flicked a finger in Chris' direction.

In an attempt to keep his cool, Chris tightened his grip on the towel.

"Let me give you some advice, Warrior," Fontaine placed a friendly arm around Chris' shoulders and continued, "Just slap her around once in a while. She won't give you any more trouble. Believe me."

Before Evan could intercede, even before Fontaine knew what hit him, he was slammed against the metal lockers on the opposite wall. Chris' large hands twisted in his t-shirt, pinning him. "Is that what you do, Fontaine?" Slam. "You beat up women?" Slam. "Does that make you feel like a fucking big man?" Slam. "You son of a bitch." Chris' right fist connected with Fontaine's belly. Even though the blow was tempered when Evan grabbed Chris' right arm, Fontaine doubled over in obvious pain.

"Fox! Stop, man!" Evan coaxed. By now, the few players still lingering in the locker room gathered around the combatants. There wasn't much love lost between them and Fontaine, but they all held to the same principle: you don't go after a teammate. "Let him go!" Evan wrapped his other arm around Chris' neck, trying to pull him back.

Chris' strength seemed almost super human at this point. He heard nothing except the echo of Fontaine's words, "just slap her around once in a while." And he thought of Stephen's hands wrapped around Allie's neck. He drew back his left fist but before he could deliver the second blow, a couple of teammates rushed forward and grabbed Chris' arms.

"What the hell's going on in here?" Coach roared as he stood at the end of the row of lockers, meaty fists planted on his hips.

The voice penetrated the red haze that had engulfed Chris' mind. He dropped his hands and watched Fontaine slide to the floor moaning.

"Tobias! What the hell are you doing, you stupid jackass?" Coach steam rolled his way towards them, bent to check on Fontaine then straightened up and continued his tirade, "You'll ride the pine, you hear me? Benched until further notice. But you'll suit up."

This caught Chris' attention. He turned his gaze away from the quivering body of Fontaine and looked at Coach. Practically nose to nose now, Coach continued, "That's right. You'll suit up but you won't play. You'll suit up and just watch, goddamn it. You understand?"

Chris stood unmoving. He'd never done anything like this in his life; never struck out at someone smaller or weaker than he. And he'd absolutely never hit a teammate. What a time he'd picked, and what a victim. Only the team's leading scorer.

"Do you hear me, Tobias?" the coach yelled again. He reached up and smacked Chris on the side of the head with an open palm. "Are you deaf?"

After a penetrating moment in which Chris' gaze never left Coach's face, never flinched, he ground out, "I hear you."

"Good. Get dressed and get the hell out of here. Somebody get Fontaine to the trainer's room."

Of the small crowd of teammates that had gathered around, a few came forward and picked Fontaine up by the arms. "You asshole. I'll get you for this," he choked out.

Chris did not even look at him. Instead, he thrust his legs into a pair of pants, threw on his shirt and suit jacket and stuck his bare feet into a pair of shoes. He ignored Evan calling to him, and thudded out of the locker room into the cold winter night.

* * *

Coach sat in his office, hands folded on the desk in front of him. Fontaine had some bruising, but nothing broken—except his pride.

In the five years he'd coached this kid, he couldn't remember ever seeing Tobias lose it like he did tonight. While not one of the most talented players, he was a hard worker who was there every game, every practice, and did whatever was asked of him. He was a listener, too, always willing to learn something new. Some of these guys, you couldn't teach a thing to. He didn't usually lose his temper like that, either—it's what made him a good enforcer.

Coach wondered what the hell Fontaine had done to tick him off. But Tobias had not been in the game at all tonight and had even been late for practice—another first for this kid. He'd have to keep an eye on him because if he lost his temper and no one was there to stop him, someone would get hurt . . . badly.

* * *

"Don't go out with your hair wet, Chris. It'll freeze," his mother used to tell him as he'd run out the door late, as usual, for school. He'd always gotten up early so he could practice hockey moves on the outdoor rink two blocks from his house. He liked to be the first one out there so he could be alone in the quiet of dawn. The rink was his and he could think and try to make sense of a world in which he had little control. As the sun rose higher in the sky, more kids would come out to get some skating in before school. By the time he'd get home and shower he'd have just enough time to shove a piece of toast in his mouth and head out the door, hair dripping wet. His hair never actually froze, but it did get stiff in the cold Canadian morning air.

He felt like a kid again. Unsure. Powerless. When he stormed out of the rink after he'd hit Fontaine, he had no thought about where he was going; he rambled aimlessly but with strong, steady steps, as if he had a particular destination. And what the fuck was he thinking going after Le Rat like that? He'd never struck out at a teammate. Jesus he hoped he hadn't hurt him. The guy was a bastard, but he didn't deserve that. Except . . . Chris wondered if he beat up on his girlfriend; it hadn't sounded like a joke when Fontaine had said, "just slap her around once in a while." Even if it was a joke, it was a sick one.

Christ, how could he help Allie and keep his cool? Keep his fucking sanity? An incredibly strong urge to wrap his hands around the neck of that fucker, Stephen, and squeeze the life out of him brewed deep within. While this feeling wasn't completely alien to him, it was one he hadn't felt in a very long time.

After about an hour of walking, Chris remembered he wasn't wearing socks when he felt a blister beginning to form on the back of one heel. He looked around and found himself somehow back at the rink. At least he could drive himself home and not have to get a ride.

* * *

"Where've you been?" Evan asked when Chris came through the front door.

"Walking."

"What the fuck is going on, Fox? You said it was bad."

Chris leaned back against the door, closing it. "Her ex-boyfriend's been beating the crap out of her and I never even knew it. Practically under my fucking nose, Otawindeht. Christ, I'm so stupid."

"Aw, man." Evan had stood up when Chris came in but now he plopped back onto the couch. "No wonder you freaked on Le Rat."

Chris collapsed into a chair. "You think he beats up his girlfriend?"

"He's a big enough asshole. Could be."

As he had in the locker room after the game, Chris lowered his head into his hands resting his elbows on his knees. "I can't let this happen. Jesus, I feel so damn guilty."

"Hey, man, don't blame yourself. It's not like it just started happening, right? It was going on long before you came on the scene."

"I can't ignore it, Otawindeht." Chris raised his head and looked up at Evan. "I saw this guy—he was trying to choke her." His voice caught in his throat with the memory and he swallowed hard. "I think he started coming around again when he saw her with me."

"Shit. That's heavy. What are you gonna do?"

"Hell, I don't know. Still trying to figure it all out. I want to make sure she knows I would never treat her, or any woman, like that." After a brief pause, he uttered, "Fucking Fontaine. He alright?"

"Yeah. You just knocked the wind out of him."

"I know you stopped me from really hurting him, Otawindeht. You saved my ass big time tonight."

"Ain't a thing, man. We gotta look out for each other, Fox."

Chris nodded. "You know, it felt so fucking good to bury my fist in his belly. So fucking good," he emphasized each word. "I wanted to keep doing it until I made him hurt as much as Allie was hurt."

Evan gulped. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

After a few minutes, Chris said, "Hey, Otawindeht, do me a favor. Don't say anything to anyone. Not even Jackie. Ok? This is something I've got to work out myself. And I know Allie doesn't want it to get around. She never even told me until I saw that . . . that prick—"

"You got it, Fox."

That night, when Chris entered his bedroom, he stared at the photographs on his dresser—his parents on their wedding day, another one of him with his older brother and younger sister, and a third one of all five of them. His father had never raised a hand to any of them. His brother, five years older and Chris' hero, had always looked out for them until he was out of high school and left home to find work. Then it had fallen to Chris to protect his baby sister—two years younger than he. Being Indian, even living as far north as Kamloops, wasn't always easy. As he looked at the photo of the three of them, his stomach roiled with an old memory. He fingered his chest at his solar plexus and absently rubbed the spot where a scar occasionally irritated him. He didn't want to fail Allie like he'd failed his sister all those years ago. He hoped he was a stronger person now—strong enough to save Allie and keep her safe.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Music (which I do not own):

"Down in a Hole" by Alice in Chains – for Chris after the game, in the locker room

"Coinleach Glas An Fhomhair" by Clannad – Chris walking after the confrontation with Fontaine; not so much for the lyrics (which are in Irish) but for the mood the music sets

Hockey Lingo from thehockeywritersdotcom and glassoutdotcom

Plug – when someone calls a player a "plug," it means he thinks he's a lousy player and is just on the team to fill a slot

Ride the Pine – when a player sits on the bench and gets no playing time during the entire game

I so appreciate the support and love readers are giving this story! MedicineWoman, you are absolutely right that Uncas has a temper, which we see only briefly in LOTM, as you mentioned, when Colonel Munro refuses to let the colonials leave Fort William Henry to protect their homesteads. I'm giving Chris/Uncas a little more freedom here to show that temper (as you saw in this chapter). Similarly, a "Guest" reviewer (was it you, MedicineWoman?) commented that Chris/Uncas' playful side reminded her of Uncas at the Cameron's cabin; that is the scene I was thinking of when Chris is with Sweet Jess and teases Allie/Alice; Uncas was so adorable with the Cameron children. I really feel he had this playful, humorous side that we saw only glimpses of in LOTM. I am really pleased that these characteristics of Uncas' personality are visible in this contemporary version. Thank you, thank you, readers-you all inspire me!

MohawkWoman - thank you for sharing that picture of a certain Huron extra in LOTM, whom Evan is based on, even though you hate that hat!

And while Thanksgiving is NOT one of Chris/Uncas' favorite holidays, I still want to wish you all a safe, healthy, and happy holiday.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Allie felt Cora's eyes on her as she poured coffee for them both. She looked up, and because she knew she could never lie to Cora, no matter how hard she tried, she took a deep breath and remained silent.

Cora tugged the sleeve of Allie's sweatshirt and said, "Let's go into the living room. Get comfortable."

Allie nodded and followed her to the couch where they sat and sipped their coffee. Suddenly chilled, Allie wrapped her hands around her mug. Chris was not here to warm her up. And somehow, she knew this would not be an easy conversation.

"Let me see," Cora said, taking Allie by the chin and tilting her head. "He tried to choke you. What else?"

Silently, she lifted her sweatshirt to show Cora where Stephen had kicked her on her right side. The purplish skin was slightly swollen around the area where his boot had made contact with her ribs. "How does it feel to breath?" Cora asked.

"Hurts like hell," she replied.

Gently, Cora probed. Allie sucked in a sharp breath. "You should probably get an x-ray to see if it's broken but we both know the treatment is the same whether it's broken or bruised. Rest. Take some ibuprofen if you need it. If the pain gets worse you can still get an x-ray and get a scrip for stronger pain meds. Keep icing it for another day or so. If you can take off work tomorrow, that would be good."

Allie nodded.

"Anything else?"

"I hit my head." She indicated a spot on the back of her head.

Again, Cora probed as she had Allie's ribs. "How're you feeling? Headache? Dizziness? Nausea?"

"No. I iced it pretty quickly. Just a little tender when you touch it."

Cora nodded. "We'll keep an eye out for any symptoms of a concussion. You want to tell me what happened after you and Chris left my place last night?"

Allie curled her legs under her and leaned against the couch cushions. Staring at her fingers clenched around her mug, she began to tell her story. "Chris dropped me off. He walked me to the front door but didn't come in . . . maybe five minutes after he left . . . someone . . . someone knocked on the door. I didn't even think I just . . . I opened it." She finally looked up at Cora. "I thought it was Chris coming back," Allie closed her eyes and turned away.

When she didn't continue, Cora urged, "But it wasn't Chris."

Allie shook her head and whispered, "No. It wasn't." The rest of the story came out haltingly, reluctantly.

"Damn," Cora murmured. "I'm sorry you went through that crap, again. Stephen ran, huh?"

"The second Chris burst through the door. It was like a scene out of a movie, Cora."

"Wish I had been there to see it."

A tiny grin slid across Allie's face. "He was pretty amazing."

"You didn't call the police?"

"Chris wanted to. He wanted to take me to the hospital, too."

"You said no?"

Allie nodded. "I knew I wasn't hurt that badly. Not like . . . the last time."

"Shit, Allie. He tried to kill you," Cora stated.

"No, Cora. He got pissed because I fought back. I've never . . . it was the first time I fought him."

"If Chris hadn't come in when he did, do you think Stephen would have stopped?"

"I think so."

"Who would have stopped him? What would have made him stop hurting you?"

"If I hadn't let him in in the first place, none of this would have happened."

"Allie. C'mon. You still blaming yourself for this shit?" Cora asked as she set her mug on the coffee table but kept her eyes on Allie. Her stare was unrelenting and Allie looked away, blinking back tears.

"I let him in," she repeated.

"That doesn't give him the right to assault you, Allie." After a pause, she continued, "Chris came in your house. Did he hit you or kick you or try to choke you?"

Still trying to hold back tears, Allie lowered her eyes, remembering how tender Chris had been. Even when she'd climbed into bed with him, he hadn't tried to seduce her or coerce her. He'd simply held her, knowing it was exactly what she needed at the time. "No," she whispered.

"Honey," Cora's voice softened and she tilted Allie's chin up so she could look her in the eye. "No one has the right to attack you. No one. I don't care who he is or if you let him in or not. You understand?"

Allie nodded.

"I want to take pictures of your bruises," Cora stated as she reached for her phone.

"Why?" Allie asked, leaning away.

"Evidence."

"Evidence?" Allie's voice cracked.

"He was choking you. That's a crime. Chris was right. You should call the police."

"No. I don't want to do that, Cora. Stephen is . . . he's . . ."

"He's what?" Cora asked when Allie stopped.

"I don't know. I just . . . I'm not sure I can do that yet."

Cora took a deep breath. "Look," she began, "it's up to you how you want to handle this. You know I love you and I'll support you no matter what you decide. You're not alone, Allie. You've got Nathaniel and me and it sure looks like you've got Chris, too. But remember, Stephen landed you in the hospital before. He'll keep coming at you until you do something to stop him. What are you going to do when Chris isn't around to scare the shit out of Stephen? You think Stephen will stay away from you on his own? He'll know when Chris is out of town on a road trip. He'll know you're alone. You think he won't come after you then?"

Allie slammed her mug on the coffee table and shot up off the couch, wincing in pain. Her hands trembled and she clasped them in an attempt to calm herself. She knew Cora was right. Stephen wouldn't stop, especially now that he knew about Chris. And even though Stephen had run when Chris showed up last night, she was sure it was only because he'd been caught off guard. But now he knew. He knew that Chris cared about her and would come to her defense. That would probably just rile him up even more. "I'll have to face him in court."

"But you won't be alone. I'll be there with you. And remember, the state could still press charges against him even if you don't."

"He could go to jail."

"Yeah. Wouldn't that be great?!" Cora exclaimed.

Allie paced away from the couch then turned back to face Cora, hands still clamped together in front of her, eyes wide.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy," Cora declared, "but if you want him out of your life, it may be the only way." When Allie didn't respond, she continued, "I can help."

"You've done so much for me, already, Cora."

"That's what friends do, Allie. We're here for each other. You would do the same for me, right?"

Allie nodded, "Of course."

"So. Should we look online, just to see what's involved?"

After a brief pause, Allie concurred, "OK."

They made lunch and sat together at Allie's kitchen counter, laptop in front of them. They read through the Pine Tree Legal Assistance website. "Well," Cora asked, "what do you think? Ready to take that first step?"

Allie took a deep breath, "I'm scared," she confessed.

"I know, honey. But you've got a team of us behind you." She squeezed her shoulder and smiled. "We'll get through this. I promise."

Together they filled out the paperwork online for a "Protection from Abuse Order." Because Allie had to include as much detail as possible about what Stephen had done to her, by the time they'd finished, she felt drained, almost as if she'd gone through everything again. But Cora was there offering support and hugs when a memory seemed too painful. Seeing Stephen's actions in black and white made it somehow surreal, as if it had happened to someone else. And perhaps it had. Perhaps Stephen had hurt "Alice" but not "Allie." But every time she took a breath she knew the truth.

"I don't have to be at work until 7:00 tomorrow night. I can go with you to the District Court in the afternoon," Cora said. She promised she'd be a witness and urged her to ask Chris if he would as well. Before she left to meet Nathaniel for dinner, she hugged Allie saying, "You want to stay at my place tonight?"

"No. But thank you, Cora. If I'm going to do this, I can't be afraid to be alone. I can't let Stephen control me. This is good practice for me."

"Call me if anything—"

"I will. Now go. Don't keep Nathaniel waiting."

* * *

Allie made herself a salad for dinner. When she finished eating, she decided to watch some of Chris' game as she sipped a mug of hot chocolate. She wanted to unwind and the truth was, she missed Chris even though she'd been with him last night and early this morning. She missed his warmth, his tenderness, his concern. Maybe watching the game would help her feel closer to him. And after seeing The Blades live, she thought she might be better able to follow the game. She wanted to become accustomed to watching him play despite the inherent violence. Because it was Chris. And it was what he loved to do. It was part of what made him who he was. He'd proven to her last night that he was courageous and fierce and protective and gentle. She wanted to at least appreciate what he did for a living even if she wasn't crazy about it. And she wondered how she'd feel, how she'd react, if she saw him fight again. Partway through the second period, the opportunity presented itself.

Allie watched silently as Chris' opponent seemed to get the better of him. The guy yanked Chris' jersey and it came partway over his head, effectively locking his right arm so he couldn't fight back. Two hard punches to his face knocked him to his knees. "Oh, God," Allie murmured and wrapped her arms around herself. After a couple more shots hit their mark with Chris unable to retaliate, the two linesmen got between them and separated the combatants. When Chris stood and pulled his jersey down, Allie saw blood trickling from his mouth; he looked haggard. Surprisingly, she didn't feel frightened or threatened. Instead, she hurt for him; this time he was the victim.

One of the announcers said, "Well, that's a bit of a surprise. Tobias usually handles this guy fairly easily."

His partner concurred saying, "He seems a little off his game tonight."

"I agree. He's lacking intensity, like he's just going through the motions."

"Yes. And that's unusual for Tobias."

Allie watched Chris skate off the ice holding a towel to his lip. To a certain extent, it paralleled last night and Allie wished she could be with him right now, offer him the same comfort he'd given her. A sudden protective urge shot through her. Silly. He was a big, tough guy who didn't need her protection. But still, the feeling prickled within her.

As the game wore on, Allie understood what the announcers meant; Chris didn't seem into the game. It was like his head was somewhere else. And Allie had a feeling she knew where that might be.

After the opposition scored to take the lead, Allie noticed that Chris did not play the rest of the game. The Blades lost by one goal. She clicked the TV off and wondered if she should try to contact him. She didn't want to intrude and he'd done enough for her already. So instead, she decided to take a hot bath then go to sleep. She'd been putting ice on her ribs on and off and had felt cold all day.

Allie climbed into bed about 11:30. The cell phone on her bedside table beckoned. She reached for it but stopped and stared at it. Finally, she gave in. Leaning back against the pillows she texted Chris: I saw the game. U OK?

After a few minutes when Chris hadn't replied, Allie decided he was already asleep or maybe just not in the mood to talk. Honestly, she wasn't sure how he'd be feeling after the kind of game he played. As she leaned over to place her phone back on the bedside table, it dinged.

Chris: U watched?

Allie: I did.

Chris: U saw the fight?

Allie: I did.

Chris: Sorry.

Allie: U OK?

Chris: Fine. U?

Allie: Fine.

Chris: Really?

Allie paused before responding. How was she feeling? Truly? If she wanted to be honest with herself, she admitted that she wanted Chris' arms around her again. Wanted his heartbeat thrumming in her ears and his warmth enveloping her body. Because, damn it, she was still cold, even after the hot chocolate and the hot bath. And she missed his presence. But she couldn't tell him all that.

Allie: Filled out some forms for protection from abuse. Bringing them to district court tomorrow.

Chris: Good. Want me to go with u?

Allie: Cora's coming.

Chris: Want more company?

Allie: Can we talk?

Chris: Now?

Allie: Ur tired. Long night, long game. Sorry. Tomorrow.

Less than a minute later, Allie's phone rang.

"I'm never too tired to talk to you, Allie," Chris said after Allie answered. But she thought he sounded worn out.

"You sure you're OK? You looked wiped tonight, especially after the fight."

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Your lip was bleeding."

"I'm fine. No worries, eh. So tell me about this 'protection' thing."

After Allie explained it to him he said, "I'm glad, Allie. It's the right thing to do. Like I said, I'll come with you if you want me there."

"I may need a witness at the hearing. Would you be willing—"

"Whatever you need. I'm in."

She said nothing, feeling overwhelmed by his willingness to put himself on the line for her.

"Allie? You there?"

"Yeah. Thank you," she said simply.

"Cora still with you?"

"No. She wanted me to stay at her place tonight, but I said no."

"How come?"

"I . . . I want to be able to be alone and not be afraid all the time. Especially in my own house."

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Allie. You've already proven how brave you are."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so damn nice, Chris."

"I'm being truthful," he stated.

Unable to speak, Allie's breath hitched as she tried to hold back the sudden tears that pooled in her eyes.

"Allie?" When she didn't answer he asked, "You OK?"

She nodded then remembered he couldn't see her. Finally, she replied, "I am."

He hesitated before saying, "Hey, Allie, I don't want you to think I'm asking for something more here, but if you want, I'll come over and stay the night."

It was what she wanted but hadn't had the courage to ask. So instead, she replied, "You got, like, no sleep last night. And even though I don't know much about hockey, I think your game may have suffered a little. I already feel bad that you were late to practice and—"

"Allie. Stop," he cut in, "just tell me what you want."

Stephen had never given her an option like this: "Just tell me what you want." Jesus Christ. She wanted Chris. She must not be thinking straight—must still be emotionally raw from reliving the crap that Stephen had put her through, not to mention what he'd done to her last night.

"Allie," he murmured.

His velvet voice caressed her bruised feelings like a salve on a burn. She swallowed. "Yeah?"

"What do you want?"

"For you to come over. Stay with me tonight," she whispered.

"I'll be there by midnight. You need anything?"

"Just you."

* * *

As Allie and Chris stood gazing at each other in her foyer, her eyes roamed his face, lingered on his bottom lip sporting a small cut on the left side, moved to his bruised left cheek then settled on his eyes. "I look like hell, eh?" he asked.

She offered a half smile and shook her head. "Never."

He smiled back then winced a bit.

"Sore?" she asked.

"A little. How're you feeling?"

"I've been icing my ribs all day. My head is fine. Only hurts if I press on the spot."

He nodded then reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around her upper arm. Without hesitation, she walked into his embrace. Immediately, his warmth enveloped her. It was the first time since she'd climbed into bed with him the previous night that she didn't feel chilled. She slid her arms around him and sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. She felt his fingers run through her hair and his lips touch the top of her head.

"You want something to eat or drink or anything?" she asked as she tilted her head back.

"No. Thanks. I'm just tired. You?"

"Exhausted."

And so Allie found herself in her bedroom with Chris. She hadn't altered it much since she'd been a teenager except to replace a pink frilly bedspread and curtains with a simple burgundy comforter and insulated drapes—much more practical and understated than her taste at 14! Instead of posters of her favorite actors and bands, prints from the Portland Museum of Art announcing Van Gogh, O'Keefe, and Monet exhibits hung on her walls. Her dresser was a vintage Art Deco piece her father had picked up cheaply at a yard sale when she was a kid. She always loved it but didn't really know why. As she looked at its warm cinnamon colored wood finish, she realized its strong, straight lines, curved edges and round mirror gave it a graceful appearance, as well as a suggestion of sturdiness, solidness.

She watched Chris stare out her window. He wore a pair of dark blue and grey plaid, flannel lounge pants riding low on his hips, and a grey t-shirt that, while not tight by any means, hinted at his muscled physique beneath. An overwhelming need to touch him emboldened her enough to pad softly up to him, slide her arms around his waist and rest her head against his broad back. He turned his head slightly and ran his hands along her arms. "What are you looking at?" she asked.

"The moon. The stars. Checking for Stephen's car." She sucked in a breath and began to pull away. But Chris held on and turned fully towards her. "What is it, Allie?" he murmured.

"For a minute there I forgot about him."

"Damn. Didn't mean to remind you." His hands slid around her.

"It kind of surprises me that I actually can forget, even if it's only for a few minutes." She looked up at him, "You do that for me." After a pause she simply said, "Thank you."

"Sweetheart, I wish I could change your life so that this shit never happened. So that your parents were still alive. So that you never met that bastard."

"But then maybe I wouldn't have met you," she confessed.

"What you went through isn't worth it. You don't deserve any of it. And we might have met even if all that shit didn't happen to you. Or maybe you would have met someone else. Someone who—"

She touched his lips with gentle fingers. "Chris. Stop. You are . . . so special." Under different circumstances, she might have been too shy to express such emotions. But everything that had happened with her parents and Stephen, and the way Chris had stepped in without hesitation or question showed her that holding back wasn't always the right thing to do. Especially if it meant losing a chance to be with Chris.

He closed his eyes. "God, Allie. You humble me. I'm just a freaking Cementhead who plays hockey."

Her fingers skimmed along his cheek and delved into his hair. "You're so much more than that." She pulled his head down to her and lightly touched her lips to his. "Does it hurt?"

He opened his eyes and smiled. "A little. You?"

A tiny giggle escaped her. "A little," she echoed.

"So maybe we need to heal up 'a little' before we do anything else, eh? Unfortunately."

The tiny giggle grew into a full laugh. "Unfortunately," she agreed. "Cementhead?!"

* * *

They slept through the night in Allie's bed, peacefully, soundly, and with one of them always in contact with the other—his hand on her thigh; her fingers wrapped around his arm; her back pressed into his side; his arm thrown across her protectively. No matter how they moved while sleeping, they somehow never lost that physical connection.

* * *

"Hidden Place"

Through the warmest cord of care  
Your love was sent to me  
I'm not sure what to do with it  
Or where to put it

I'm so close to tears  
And so close to  
Simply calling you up  
I'm simply suggesting

We go to the hidden place  
That we go to the hidden place  
We go to the hidden place  
We go to a hidden place

Now I have been slightly shy  
And I can smell a pinch of hope  
To almost have allowed  
Once fingers to stroke  
The fingers I was given  
To touch with but careful, careful

There lies my passion, hidden  
There lies my love  
I'll hide it under a blanket  
Lull it to sleep

I'll keep it in a hidden place  
I'll keep it in a hidden place  
Keep it in a hidden place  
Keep it in a hidden place

He's the beautifulest  
Fragilest still strong  
Dark and divine  
And the littleness of his movements

Hides himself  
Invents a charm  
That makes him invisible  
Hides in the air

Can I hide there too  
Hide in the air of him  
Seek solace  
Sanctuary

In the hidden place  
In a hidden place  
In a hidden place  
We'll stay in a hidden place

Oh, in a hidden place  
We'll live in a hidden place  
We'll be in a hidden place  
In a hidden place

by Bjork from Vespertine

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Music: I do not own "Hidden Place"

For me, this song perfectly describes how Allie is feeling about Chris and where their relationship is heading. It also hints at Chris keeping his demons to himself, at least for now (don't worry, he WILL share his past with Allie eventually). And I think it describes Chris/Uncas physically pretty darn well: "He's the beautifulest/Fragilest still strong/Dark and divine." (I love that phrase, "dark and divine!")

What Bjork said about this song (from Geniusdotcom), at least to me, describes exactly what they need in each other. (They're almost there!):

"' **Hidden Place'** _is sort of about how two people can create a paradise just by uniting. You've got an emotional location that's mutual. And it's unbreakable. And obviously it's make-believe. So, you could argue that it doesn't exist because it's invisible, but of course it does."_

A very helpful website I found in my research was the Pine Tree Legal Assistance site which basically walks someone through the process of filing a "Protection from Abuse Order." It explains what to expect at each step, how to prepare for a hearing, etc.

A special thank you to BrynnaRaven for her help with questions I had about a couple of things in this chapter; she helped me break through a bit of writer's block.

Any incorrect info regarding medical issues are completely my fault. You medical types out there—you know who you are (BrynnaRaven, MedicineWoman, anyone else?)—please keep me honest!

Thank you Mohawk Woman for your continued support and the idea of how Allie getting a restraining order might help her relationship with Chris move forward—stay tuned!

I almost ended this chapter before Chris went to Allie's house but Suchgoodluck got me thinking it would be too cruel to have two chapters in a row where they aren't together. And obviously, Chris and Allie had other ideas-and they let me know it!

And as always—thank you readers and reviewers for your affection for this story and for your patience as Chris and Allie's relationship slowly develops—you are all truly amazing!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Brown Eyes"

When you look at me with those brown eyes  
What do you want to do  
Do you have to have me  
The way that I want you  
I want you

When you look at me with those brown eyes  
What do you want to say  
And are you just another liar  
Will you take me all the way  
All the way.

by Christine McVie

* * *

She was swimming in Casco Bay where the Portland Headlight guarded the rocky coast. It was strange because this was not a place where anyone would or could swim; the water was too cold and rough, the coastline treacherous. But there she was, swimming at night. Though no moon shone above, she looked over her shoulder and saw the bright beacon flashing its intervals, guiding her progress, illuminating her path. She swam out a little farther when suddenly, an explosion ripped the night. Allie turned and watched as the lighthouse beacon burst into shards like fireworks. All around her, the bay lit up as sparks streaked through the air. Then just as suddenly, the night turned utterly black. She could see nothing, not the rocky coast, not the water around her. Nothing.

"How will you get back to shore, Alice?" Stephen's voice filled her darkness. "You shouldn't have gone swimming alone at night."

"Help me! I can't see anything," Allie exclaimed.

"You should have made plans before you went swimming, Alice."

"Please, help me!" she cried.

"Allie. Allie, wake up!"

Hands gripped her shoulders and she clung to the arms that held her. "Help me get back," she begged.

"It's OK. It's just a dream. Wake up, sweetheart. Come on, wake up."

Her eyes opened as she struggled against the rough currents of the bay.

"Allie."

Chris' voice, not Stephen's. The sun cresting the horizon lightened her bedroom enough so that when she looked up into his face, she could see the bruise on his cheek and the cut on his lip and the concern in his eyes. A sigh escaped her and she relaxed her tense body.

Chris stroked the hair off her forehead. "You OK? You were dreaming."

"I'm sorry I woke you up," she whispered, not yet trusting her voice.

"It's alright. What were you dreaming about?" he asked, running his hands up and down her arms. "You're shivering." He pulled her against his chest. Immediately, his warmth surrounded her. Her arms encircled him and she hung on.

After a few moments she said, "I'm OK." He loosened his hold and she let go. Leaning back, she shoved a pillow behind her, settled against it.

Chris lay on his right side, head held up by one hand. He ran the backs of his fingers along her arm. "Tell me about your dream."

"Did I say anything?" She glanced down at him.

Looking up at her he nodded. "You said, 'Help me get back.'"

Her eyes were caught by the movement of his mouth because she'd detected a slight lisp in his speech pattern. "Didn't you have teeth when we went to bed last night?" she couldn't help asking with a chuckle.

He laughed, revealing his gap-toothed smile. "I took my bridge out in the middle of the night. Didn't want to scare you off before you even had a chance to fall asleep. Figured by morning, it wouldn't matter. Hang on, I'll put it back in."

As he began to rise, she took his arm. "No. No, Chris. I think you look kinda cute without your teeth," she confessed and laughed at the look on his face, amazed she could tease him even after her disturbing dream.

"Yeah?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up. She nodded. He rolled over onto his belly, clutched the pillow beneath him. "Well, damn. I would have taken it off weeks ago if I knew that!" he quipped, looking up at her with that adorable, crinkle-eyed, gap-toothed grin. She couldn't help reaching out to cup his cheek and trace the slight dimple there. He leaned into her touch. After a brief moment, he said, "So, tell me."

Trying to clear her mind, she scrubbed at her forehead then rested a hand on Chris' shoulder, felt the slight movement of muscle there as his fingers continued to caress her arm. She described the events in her dream. "Weird, huh?" she asked.

"Most dreams are, eh," he replied, "but I wish that fucker wasn't invading your mind when you sleep." He sat up, adjusted the pillow behind him and asked, "Why the lighthouse, do you think?" His fingers wrapped around her upper arm and his thumb stroked her sensitive skin.

"I don't know. Well, actually, I think I do." She told him about the visits she and her father used to make to the Portland Headlight in Cape Elizabeth. "It was a time just for the two of us. I still go sometimes. It . . . I feel safe when I'm there. And full of good memories."

He dropped a light kiss on her cheek where Stephen's finger marks were still visible then pulled her close, adjusting so her back was against his chest. "You OK like this? Your ribs hurt?"

"Super comfortable," she replied with a sigh and leaned her head on his shoulder.

After a few minutes of easy silence, Chris ventured, "I'm glad you're filing that order of protection." When she said nothing he pressed his lips to her hair. "Allie?" She trembled. He slid out from behind her and cupped her cheeks in his large hands, tilted her head gently so she had to look up at him. "Allie," he murmured again, "what is it, sweetheart?"

"I don't know if it's the right thing to do," she confessed.

"Why not?" he asked.

"What if . . . what if he—"

"If he comes anywhere near you, I'll kill him," Chris declared, his voice deep and calm.

"Chris, he could hurt you."

"Let him try."

She stared at him, her eyes traced along the strong lines of his face, his body, finally settled on his eyes. His eyes. They'd taken on such a hard, flinty edge, he looked more frightening than he had when she'd seen him fight for the first time. She had no doubt he could very well kill Stephen. "I don't want you to get hurt, in any way, because of him . . . because of me." Her voice caught in her throat and she slid out of his hold, turned her back to him.

"Allie," he said with such emotion that she felt tears sting her eyes when she looked over her shoulder at him. He shifted behind her, wrapped himself around her and said, "Christ. He could have killed you Saturday and you're worried about me?"

She sucked in a breath and twisted to look up at him. "You shouldn't have to deal with him."

"YOU shouldn't have to deal with him. You get this protection order and he has to stay away from you."

"Are you sure you're willing to go to court? For me?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because, it's . . . it's a scary thing. At least for me. And . . ." and here was the burning question that had been swirling around her head ever since the day after Thanksgiving when she'd broken down and he'd helped her. She felt she needed to give him an opportunity to back out. To walk away from her and the fucked up situation that was her life. "Why would you want to get mixed up with me? With everything I have going on right now." She blinked at the genuinely confused look that came over his face.

"Seriously?" he asked. "Because I care about you, Allie."

She took a deep breath. What she had to say next was painful on so many levels. But she wanted to say it, needed to say it for her own peace of mind. "Chris, you can probably be with any woman you want. I mean, I've seen the way women look at you. And . . . you're a great guy. Sweet and patient. And now you know the ugly truth about me. I don't want you to feel obligated. Or feel sorry for me." She felt his body tense just the slightest bit.

"You think I would be here if I didn't want to be?"

"You could cut and run and not have anything more to do with me. I . . . I would understand." She looked away, unable to meet the dark, intense gaze that scanned her face. Because the truth was, while she would understand, she would very likely be devastated. He'd become that important to her.

"You would understand if I took off and left you to the tender mercies of that fucking asshole?" The volume of his voice barely increased, but she noticed it.

"I don't want your pity," she exclaimed and pushed against him.

He held on to her saying, "Don't pull away from me, Allie." Tears spilled from her eyes. "Ah, damn, Allie. I don't pity you. Jesus, you're so strong. Look at what you survived."

Oh God, it felt like that was all she'd been doing for the past 24 hours—reliving all that crap with Stephen.

"How can I prove to you that I give a shit about you?"

"Why would you?" she blurted, unable to hold back the doubts, the fears coursing through her.

"Because I do, Allie. You think you're not worth it or something? Or do you think I'm just a gutless coward like that fucker? That I'd run from this? From you?"

She was sobbing now like she had after Chris had come back Saturday night. She shook her head, "No," she gulped. "I just . . . I . . . you—"

"Ah, Allie, baby. Baby," he crooned and pulled her to him. "He fucked with your head. But believe me when I tell you that you are an amazing person. You're a sweetheart. You're brave and strong. So strong. And you're funny. You're beautiful. And I want to be here for you. I want to be with you. Not out of pity." Gently, with the lightest of touches, he lowered his lips to hers. He murmured her name and moved his lips to each cheek, kissing away the tears. He tucked her head against his neck. She turned in his arms so she could burrow into him, into his warmth, into the safety of his arms. And she clung to him like she'd clung to no one since her parents died. She felt his hands smooth her back, her shoulders, his fingers comb through her hair. Her hands clutched his t-shirt, fists pressing into his back. He was so solid, so warm, so strong. And he was here. Here with her. Holding her. Comforting her. Because he wanted to be.

Finally, finally, her sobs subsided. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"What for?"

"For breaking down. Again." She looked up at him, wiped her eyes and sniffled. "For doubting you. I'm so sorry for doubting you, Chris. It's my own fear. About myself. About what I let happen to me. When I filled out the paperwork yesterday, I had to include a lot of details—as much as I could remember."

"No need to apologize." Again, he kissed the top of her head, fingers tunneling through her hair. "I wish there was an easier way to do this so that you didn't have to go through it again, Allie. But I really think it's the right thing to do."

"Cora said the same thing."

"I'll go with you this afternoon. I have practice this morning but I can be back here by about 1:00. Is that too late?"

"No. Cora and I were going to go in the afternoon, anyway."

"Wait for me?"

She nodded then touched his face, as if she would memorize his features. And she gazed into his brown eyes, eyes that were now soft with concern and something else that she wasn't sure she was ready to see just yet. "Thank you. Thank you for coming into my life," she whispered fiercely.

* * *

Allie made scrambled eggs. She drank her requisite cup of coffee and he hydrated with water. They ended the meal with some fruit. "Perfect pre-practice breakfast," Chris said as he held Allie around the waist. "Thank you, sweetheart."

She smiled. "Next time you can make lasagna for us."

"Not without Cora's aprons," he grinned. "Did you call out from work for today?" Allie nodded. "Good. Give yourself some time to heal. And I know it won't be easy this afternoon, but you can do this, Allie. I can stay with you again tonight. I don't have a game until Wednesday night."

"I'd like that," she said. As they stared into one another's eyes, she knew she could fall so deeply into those twin pools of darkness. They were fathomless and intense, but they did not frighten her in any way—instead, they were a haven, her safe harbor. She rose onto her tiptoes and softly kissed him. "Still hurt?" she murmured.

"Not enough to make me stop kissing you," he replied, and deepened the kiss; his hands roamed her back, settling on her hips before inching up. When his thumbs touched the sides of her breasts, he stopped and drew back a little, stared into her eyes, a question in his own. She rose onto her tiptoes and stroked his cheek, sifted her fingers through his hair to the back of his head; her other hand cupped the back of his neck and she pulled him to her. Gently, she probed. He moaned deep in his throat. It satisfied her to know she could affect him like this. Because she meant something to him. And he meant the world to her.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Music for this chapter, which I do not own:

For Allie -

"Brown Eyes" by Christine McVie; performed by Fleetwood Mac from Tusk

For me, this song expresses Allie's insecurities where Chris is concerned. She wants to believe in him and a part of her does, but she is also still afraid and has residual feelings from her relationship with Stephen. A lot of the crap came back to her when she had to fill out the forms detailing everything he'd done to her. And ever since Chris showed interest in her, she wondered why (those insecurities can be a real bitch to let go of) and so she had to ask him—why her? Especially with the way her life is right now. And there are so few songs about brown eyes (thank you Christine and thank you Van Morrison!) that I just couldn't resist including it.

I know the dream/nightmare trope is used (probably overused) often, but Allie had that dream in my original 1990s version of this story and I thought it helped move Chris and Allie's relationship a little forward. It also expresses how Chris is becoming Allie's lighthouse (as MohawkWoman noted in an earlier review), as well as her venturing out into "unsafe waters" to begin taking charge of her life, i.e. filing the Protection from Abuse Order.

MedicineWoman, you are right that sometimes "us girls have to stick together!" I'm so glad you saw that aspect in the previous chapter where it was Cora and not Chris who urged Allie to file—it was what I was trying to convey, i.e. Chris as supportive rather than authoritative.

Thank you MedicineWoman and BrynnaRaven for your medical input—it has been very helpful!

BrynnaRaven, I'm so glad you find Chris/Uncas sexy in his careful attention to and treatment of Allie. The only thing sexier than a sensitive, caring man is a man doing housework!

MohawkWoman, he was definitely wearing cozy, flannel lounge pants—I went back and added that little detail. He was so obviously wearing flannels in my head that I forgot that readers can't see inside my mind! Although . . . sometimes it feels like they can! LOL!

MedicineWoman, the video you suggested was REALLY HELPFUL for me. I've been grappling a little with exactly what is discussed regarding the Cinderella story. She really is very strong and capable but is usually considered weak, someone who needs a man to save her. The argument presented offered a compelling interpretation—kind of empowering for me as I (re)write this story. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in the idea of Cinderella as a survivor of abuse.

I do promise some fun and relaxing times ahead for our stressed out hero and heroine—at least for a little while.

You readers are all AMAZING! And thank you to all of you who take the time to post a review and who have added this story to your faves and alerts lists. I am overwhelmed by the positive reaction.

Wishing you all a happy holiday season and a healthy 2018.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Heaven's Dead"

Anchor the night, open the sky  
Hide in the hours before sunrise  
Pray for me not, I won't lose sight  
Of where I belong and where you lie

Heaven's dead when you get sad  
I see your wishes flying  
Out of time  
For the best time you've had

Shipwreck the sun, I'm on your side  
Army of one, onward we will ride  
And whisper your songs, birds to the air  
We will bury all of our burdens there

Well, heaven's dead when you get sad  
I see your wishes flying  
Out of time  
For the best time you've had  
Heaven's dead when you get sad  
I see your wishes flying out of time  
For the best time you've had

I'll take it all, arrows or guns  
Hundreds or more to save you from one  
To save you from one  
To save you from one

To save you from one

Yeah heaven's dead when you get sad

By Timothy Commerford, Chris Cornell, Tom Morello, Brad Wilk

Heaven's Dead lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

* * *

Allie gazed at the faces of the people on the other side of her kitchen peninsula—Cora, Nathaniel—and then up at the man who stood beside her with his arm securely around her shoulders. Chris tilted his head until he touched her forehead with his own. "OK?" he asked.

She nodded and remained silent while she gathered her thoughts. Then she looked up and said, "I don't know what to say except thank you all for being here for me. For coming with me. I . . . I can't believe you all came."

"Allie," Cora began, "nothing to thank us for. Of course we're here for you."

Somehow, their schedules had meshed and they'd all been available to accompany her to District Court where she filed the Protection from Abuse Order. The judge had granted a "Temporary Order" which meant it would go into effect as soon as Stephen was served; Allie would be notified when that happened. A court date was set for early January. While she knew all this might not necessarily stop him, she hoped he'd be shaken enough to leave her alone for awhile. Maybe she'd get some breathing room and the opportunity to be with Chris without the constant shadow of Stephen following them.

Nathaniel reached across the counter to grasp her fingers. "You did the right thing, Allie." She took in a deep breath, nodded and gave his fingers a firm squeeze, trying to express how much it meant to her that he'd accompanied them.

After a quick dinner of pizza and a salad, Cora and Nathaniel left—Cora to work and Nathaniel back home to get ready to head out of town for a couple of days on a scouting assignment. Chris had brought an overnight bag with him so he could go directly to practice from Allie's the next morning.

It was 6:30 and they had the whole night ahead of them. They sat on the couch flipping through the channels to see if any good movies were on. When nothing caught their attention, Chris took the remote from Allie and turned off the TV. He touched her cheek and angled her face towards him. "Your bruises are looking better." She nodded. "How are your ribs?" He slid his arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side.

"I can breathe easier and the pain is definitely not as bad as it was yesterday. How about you? You're lip's looking better."

"Yeah, it's all OK." The silence filled the living room as Chris shifted a bit. "How're you doing? I mean, _really_ , how are you doing?"

She hesitated before saying, "I think I'm OK. Scared. Wondering how he'll react. But in a way, relieved, too."

Chris' fingers traced tiny patterns on her shoulder as he said, "You should be proud of yourself, Allie."

"I don't know that I could have done it without you and Cora. And Nathaniel! I can't believe he came. He hardly knows me."

"But Cora loves you and he loves Cora, so I'm not surprised."

"Really? He loves Cora?"

"I think so. It's pretty obvious by the way he looks at her."

Allie smiled. "I'm glad. He seems like a nice guy and her father just adores him—they get along so well."

After a quiet moment, he said, "You think you're ready to tell me about Stephen and what he did to you?"

She pulled back and bit her bottom lip. "I'm not sure, Chris. It's . . . I feel so stupid about it all."

"Stop," he stated as he held her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Stop blaming yourself. I am sick of hearing that from you." Her eyes grew wide at the vehemence with which he spoke and she scrambled away from him to the other end of the couch. "I'm sorry, Allie," he said. "I just hate hearing you talk like that. This is on him, not you." He reached for her. Tears brimmed her eyes but she sniffed, tilted her chin up. "I'm sorry," he repeated as he ran his fingers up and down her arms. "I don't mean to come on all pissed off. I just don't want you to think like this about yourself."

She nodded and returned to his embrace. "I know. I'm still kind of hypersensitive, I guess. Still afraid sometimes."

"Of him?"

"And of my own judgment. Or misjudgment."

He leaned back but kept his arms around her. "Misjudgment?" He tilted his head, "You still worried about me being like him?" His eyebrows drew together.

"I know you're not, Chris. But sometimes, my emotions mess with my head. I'm sorry. You've been nothing but unbelievably patient and kind and incredibly understanding. I keep waiting for you to lose your patience . . . to lose your temper with me."

"Ah, sweetheart, that won't happen, eh. I mean, I'm not saying I'll never get mad, but I promise, I swear, I will never lay a hand on you." He pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair, her back, placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

She wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly. "How did I get so lucky?"

He chuckled. "Not sure 'lucky' is the right word. But I'm glad we found each other."

After a few minutes, Allie said, "I need to get something." He loosened his hold and she hopped off the couch. In the dining room, she found what she was looking for on her small, open, roll top desk. She sucked in a long, cleansing breath before returning to the living room. "Here," she said, holding a red folder out to him.

"What's this?" he asked as he took it from her.

She sat on the couch and replied, "My copy of the forms I filled out. Remember I said I had to go into a lot of detail about what Stephen did?" He nodded. "It's all there. You can read it if you want. I don't think I can go through the telling again right now."

He stared at her. "You sure? I don't mean to push you. I just want to understand better."

She nodded, "I'm sure."

And so they settled in; she kicked off her shoes, folded her legs under her and rested her head on his shoulder. Entwining their fingers, he laid their hands on his thigh before opening the folder. He began to read.

* * *

When he finished, he closed the folder and tossed it on the coffee table. His head fell back and he shut his eyes. Allie turned to face him. "Chris?" Slowly, his eyes opened and swiveled to her. "What are you thinking?" she asked because for the life of her, she couldn't read the flat expression on his face.

"Is this the same coffee table?" he asked, pointing to the glass topped table in front of them. Allie nodded. He was wearing light tan workboots; he lifted both feet and shoved the table so that it skidded partway across the hardwood floor. He stood, stared at it a few seconds before shoving it once more. The folder fell to the floor, the papers inside fanning out around it. "I need some air." He pivoted, and like an oncoming storm, slammed out the front door, locking it behind him.

Allie sat on the couch staring after him. What had just happened? He hadn't even put on his coat. She breathed deeply as she slid off the couch, knelt on the floor, and retrieved the folder and scattered papers. Words and phrases leapt at her: broken ribs, bruises, contusions, concussion, stitches, strangle. The folder fell from her suddenly slack hands as everything—the pain, the fear, the anxiety, the doubt, the loss, the heartbreak—every negative emotion that dominated her life since Stephen had entered it slammed into her. With a fist, she pounded the glass surface of the coffee table, wanting to break it into a thousand pieces. The only thing she succeeded in doing was hurting the side of her hand. She felt physically sick and stood on shaky legs to hobble to the first floor powder room where she leaned over the toilet and retched. Dry heaves racked her body and she gasped at the pain in her ribs. After a few minutes when nothing came up, she slid to the floor, leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

* * *

Chris stalked outside and drew in a long, cold breath. He could smell snow in the air; he was sure a storm would hit in the next day or two.

Visions of Allie's descriptions played in his head like scenes from a movie. He had wanted to take that fucking coffee table and throw it against the wall with all his strength. He strode down the walkway and out to the sidewalk. Walking and breathing in the cold air might erase the images from his mind. His pace was quick, his strides long. When he'd gone around the block once, he arrived back at his truck parked in front of Allie's house. He hopped in on the passenger's side and sat a moment before hammering his fists against the dashboard over and over. Finally, pain forced him to stop. This was the second time in as many days that he'd felt the same kind of rage he had when he was 12. But he ripped his thoughts away from the past and focused on the present. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm himself before going back into Allie's house. He didn't want her to see him this furious. His deep, frosty breathes tinted the air with puffs of white until he felt like he could face her with some semblance of serenity. His anger still spooked her and he didn't want to do that to her. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he rubbed the sides of his fists. "You can do this, Fox," he said aloud to himself.

He tapped on Allie's front door. After about a minute he rattled the doorknob. "Allie?" he called. No answer except a silence that startled him. He banged on the door and shouted her name as he had Saturday night. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was, in reality, only a few moments, he heard the lock click. The door opened, revealing Allie's distraught face. The eyes she turned to him churned his insides. He slipped into the foyer. "Sweetheart, what is it?" he asked. Fingers reached out and touched her cheek.

"You're freezing," she mumbled and backed away.

"I needed to clear my head a little. Reading that—"

"I'm sorry I made you do it."

"You didn't 'make' me do anything, Allie. I wanted to know."

"You can still back out, you know," she said and turned from him. Her hands clamped against her belly as she ran to the bathroom. He followed.

"Allie. Baby, you alright? You sick?" he asked as she leaned over the toilet dry heaving. He knelt behind her and held her shoulders. When she came up for air he pressed her head back against his chest with a palm to her forehead. "You don't feel warm," he declared. "Something you ate making you sick?"

She shook her head but said nothing.

He paused a moment, wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently between his legs. "Hey," he turned her to face him, "what do you mean I can 'still back out?' I'm here, baby. I'm not going anywhere. Is that what you thought? That I left you?" The look on her face told him all he needed to know. "Oh, Christ, Allie. I'm sorry. No. I just . . . I had to get away. Not from you. Never from you, sweetheart," this as he held her away and looked into her eyes. "I know my anger scares you and I was feeling a shitload of it after I read what that asshole did to you. I thought it would be better if I got away for a few minutes. That's all, Allie. That's all. I'm here." His husky voice trembled a bit as he realized how much she meant to him, and, apparently, how much he meant to her. He lowered his head and touched her lips with his own. Tentative at first because he could feel she was still hurting, not just physically but deep down inside. When she didn't resist he intensified the kiss, ran his hands up and down her arms, across her back, down to her waist. He stopped and pulled his mouth away before rasping her name. "I'm here, sweetheart. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need from me."

A sound escaped her, half moan, half cry. Her hands found his shoulders; she held on then dug her fingers into his hair, tugged him towards her and fastened her mouth to his, pressed into him. Her actions knocked him slightly off balance and when her back bumped the toilet Chris grunted, "It's a little tight in here." He lifted her into his arms and stood, trying to remain steady in the small space of the powder room. Her arms encircled his neck. Angling so he wouldn't crash her legs into the door, he maneuvered out of the bathroom and back into the living room. He sat on the couch with her in his lap. He smoothed her hair back and murmured her name, reigning kisses across her face, along her neck to her ear. "Ah, Allie. Allie, sweetheart. Unless you kick me out, you're stuck with me." He heard her sigh his name as she ran her fingers through his hair and across his shoulders.

Leaning back, she looked up at him. One hand moved to his face and cupped his cheek. Gently, he kissed her thumb as it traced his lips; his own fingers inched across the line of her jaw then down along her neck to rest at the opening of her cardigan sweater. She wore a black tank top underneath and he fingered the neckline. They stared at one another, his eyes looking for an answer to his unspoken question. Slowly, slowly, he trailed his fingertips down between her breasts; his hand was so large that when he wrapped it around her slim waist his thumb skimmed the underside of one breast through the soft cotton of her shirt.

* * *

She knew what his eyes were asking, what he was asking. Without uttering a word, she shifted so that his thumb involuntarily grazed her nipple. "Allie," he crooned. And to reinforce her unspoken answer, she arched into his hand. His lips found hers again, his tongue thrusting into her open mouth as his hand cupped her breast, stroking gently, gently. He moaned deep in his throat then lifted his head to look at her. His fingers slipped the straps of her tank top and bra aside. When she didn't protest, he kissed the long column of her neck then followed a path along the rise of her collarbone. His other hand slid beneath the edge of her shirt and he ran his hands over the skin of her belly and up. He pressed his lips against her shoulder and said her name again before looking up at her. His eyes, she knew, would be her undoing.

He slid her off his lap, braced his right foot on the floor and bent his left knee on the couch between her legs. His hand skimmed her torso, his mouth following. His hair, slipping across her skin, was another caress, and she twisted her fingers into the soft waves. She'd never been a fan of long hair on men but Chris' was so thick and black and soft, she found she could not keep her hands away; it spilled across his upper back and over his shoulders—it had grown since she first met him.

Her hands skated along his broad shoulders and down to the buttons of the waffle knit, olive green Henley he wore. She pulled aside the collar to feel his warm skin beneath her fingertips. A white cotton undershirt blocked her efforts so she reached down and yanked both shirts up, the fabric bunching in her hands. He leaned back. Their eyes met and he smiled, "You want me to take this off?" he asked. When she nodded, he nudged her hands away and drew the shirts over his head, dropped them to the floor.

It was the first time she was seeing the full expanse of his upper body. Her eyes roamed his smooth chest, his shoulders, settled briefly on old scars across his right bicep and forearm, and a jagged one in the indentation of his sternum. She reached out and touched him. His warm skin nearly glowed with a coppery hue that she found alluring. It was as if her hands could not get enough of him. The contrast of her pale fingers against his darker skin as she palmed his shoulders and glided her fingers down his arms captivated her. She stopped at the tattoo around his left bicep and traced the pattern. The warmth emanating from him and the velvety feel of his skin against her fingertips fascinated her.

He pushed her cardigan off her shoulders. "Only fair," he said with a small grin as he drew off her sweater. It found its way to the floor atop his Henley and undershirt.

Both hands wrapped her waist and inched upward, dragged her tank top over the beige bra she wore. He stared at the simple style with just a touch of lace along the edges. He bent and kissed that lace, dipping his tongue down into her slight cleavage. Her hands roamed all over his back and shoulders, through his hair and down, down, down to the waistband of his jeans. She slipped her fingers beneath until she felt the curve of his buttocks; she grabbed and squeezed. He didn't see the satisfied smile that came across her face when he groaned; he was too busy pushing her bra aside and dropping kisses on her breasts, swirling his tongue around first one nipple then the other. A soft cry escaped her as she arched against his mouth. He began raining kisses down her torso but stopped suddenly.

"Chris?" He lifted his head and swallowed as he stared at the bruise along her ribs. His eyes drifted shut and he bowed his head. "It's OK, Chris. It hardly hurts right now." When he looked up—oh, God, his eyes. "Haunted" was the only word that came to mind as she stared back at him. She smoothed her thumb across his still bruised cheek. "We make quite the pair, don't you think?" she asked then cupped the back of his head, gathered him to her. He wrapped his arms around her and held tight. "It's OK," she whispered again.

With a feather light touch, his mouth traveled across her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel. His fingers had been doing their own dance along her arm and now reached to unbutton her jeans, peel back one side of the open waistband. She moaned and again arched up to his mouth. His other hand reached down to her calf and traveled up her leg to her hip. With a thumb he pulled open the other side of the waist, kissed the sensitive skin exposed by the V of her unzipped jeans. She gasped and writhed under his touch. He slid her jeans down past her hips and fingered her black bikini underwear, his tongue licking along the elastic as one of his fingers edged down. Her eyes were closed, but her hands continued to roam along his skin. "Allie?"

She opened her eyes and gazed at him unblinking, breath uneven, and touched his cheek. "Chris," she mumbled, "Uncas. My Fox. My beautiful Fox." And she smiled.

His groan came from deep within him and his hand inched beneath the elastic of her underwear. She could not contain the cry that flew from her mouth when he touched her folds, slid his fingers between. She wanted to open her legs further but her jeans, only as far down as her knees, prevented her. All she could do was moan and arch into his touch. He shoved her panties and jeans down to her ankles, spread her knees wide and flicked his tongue along the side of her calf, up to her knee, her thigh, higher, higher until finally, he tasted her. "Uncas!" she cried. It wasn't long before his fingers, combined with his tongue, found her rhythm and she was undulating beneath him, his hair sweeping along her belly and thighs. With his mouth on that incredibly sensitive spot at her apex, two fingers sliding in and out of her, she bucked and moaned over and over before shouting his Mohican name again and clasping his head between her hands.

When her movements ceased, he eased his mouth and hand away from her, rested his chin lightly by her navel and looked at her from beneath long, black lashes. Silent tears slipped from her eyes and he immediately propped himself onto his elbows. "Allie? You OK, baby? Why're you crying? Did I hurt you?"

She gasped, "God, no. I just . . . I haven't felt . . . quite . . ." she was trying to catch her breath, her fingers toying with his hair. "Quite like that before," she finished lamely and closed her eyes. Stephen had never . . .

He smoothed the backs of his fingers up and down her arm before shifting to kneel on the floor and touch her face with such gentleness and, perhaps, even reverence. At least, it felt that way to Allie. She opened her eyes and sat up, pulling her panties up. As she reached to adjust her bra, he stopped her, placing his hands over hers. "No," he whispered, "can we just . . ." and he reached around her to unclasp the hooks at the back and slip the straps off her arms. Her tank top encircled her just under her breasts. The bra joined the clothes on the floor beside him. He looked into her eyes as he held first one foot then the other to slip her jeans off. The pile of clothes grew a bit larger. She rested back on her elbows. "You're beautiful, Allie. So beautiful." His hand caressed her calf with a delicate touch. He bent and tasted her knee again, licked his way down her to her arch. "So sexy," he mumbled.

She sat up and cupped his face, raised him so she could look into his incredibly expressive eyes. "YOU are sexy," she said, "and gorgeous." He shook his head but she held him still. "Chris, you are. But more than that, you are an amazing man." And she shifted her hands to his shoulders where she dropped light kisses on first one then the other. Her fingers strayed to where his ribs led down to his muscled stomach then further to his navel. She kissed the hollow at the base of his throat, continued down the middle of his chest where she stopped and allowed her tongue to linger and taste the unusual scar at his solar plexus. She heard him suck in a breath and felt him tremble slightly. Perhaps she should move on. Her lips wandered to a nipple, licked and sucked lightly while her hands continued their southward journey until she touched his erection through his jeans. He grunted as she undid the snap and zipper then stroked him through his underwear. His head fell onto her shoulder and he heaved a heavy sigh as his hands cradled her back, massaging circles up and down either side of her spine.

She slid off the couch and knelt between his legs. Pulsing through her was a need to give him the same pleasure he'd given her. "Allie, what're you—"

"Shhhh," she murmured and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and black boxer briefs, nudged them down.

"You don't have to . . ." a groan escaped him when she touched his bare length. "Ah, Allie. Damn."

She shoved him so that he fell back onto the floor. Her hands and mouth explored the terrain of his chest and belly before she took him into her mouth. Soft grunts tumbled out of him as her tongue tasted. His hands ran through her hair, across her shoulders and finally found her breasts. Her mouth encircled him and her teeth grazed his length up and down. She spread a hand over his abdomen and caressed down and around then gently squeezed. A rhythm found its way into her actions and she could feel the sweet tension rising in him. "Allie," he mumbled and covered her hands with his own, gently pulling out of her mouth. Together they continued stroking him and he came with a soft moan. "Ah, baby," this as he pulled her to his chest and pressed her hand flat against himself.

"Good?" she asked, the fingers of her other hand fluttered across his chest just below his collar bone.

"You have to ask?" he replied and chuckled. She was staring intently at the movement of her fingers over his skin. "Allie?"

"Mmmm?"

He ran his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, along her jaw then tilted her chin so she had to look into his eyes. "You OK?"

"You have to ask?" she echoed with a grin.

He smiled and traced her lips with his thumb. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I know. I wanted to." And there on the living room floor, she snuggled against him and he wrapped his arms around her; comfort, contentment drifting over them like a softly worn blanket.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

First, I need to apologize for taking so long to post this chapter. Between the holidays and then unpleasant work stuff amping up, it's been difficult to find the time or energy to write. This chapter was originally longer; when I asked her, MohawkWoman suggested that Chris tell Allie about his own demons. And I thought that was a good idea, especially since he finally learns the depth of her relationship with Stephen. But I am finding it a little difficult to tell his story after so much pain for Allie—and I want to be sure to tell it right and do justice to his experience. So I decided to end this chapter on a high note (so to speak!) and give them some much needed "semi-after-glow" time! Chris has been holding back so nobly I thought it was really the right time for them to move their relationship to the next level—and Allie seemed ready, too. I would love to know your thoughts on this, readers: too much too soon, too fast, too late, or just right? (I promise that the next chapter will be dedicated to what happened to Chris when he was 12.)

Music – I do not own the rights to "Heaven's Dead" by Audioslave from Out of Exile

Song playing in my head during the love scene: "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. I know BrynnaRaven used it in FITF, but it just seems to fit these characters and their situations so well in both our stories-no other song was there for me in that scene. I'm guessing it's because of all those screen melting close-ups both couples engaged in throughout LOTM!

As always, reviews are appreciated and VERY helpful in moving the story along in my head. Thank you for your patience and for reading, reviewing, following, etc. Writing BDL and you wonderful readers have offered me a much needed reprieve. I thank you all, especially MohawkWoman for always answering my many questions, and both MohawkWoman and BrynnaRaven for my adorable Fox and Raven!

Finally, I'd like to leave you with a short poem I wrote back in 1996—probably with the original BDL in mind. It's a form of the Lune, aka American Haiku created by poet Robert Kelly, which is a 3-line poem consisting of 5 syllables in the first line/3 syllables in the second line/5 syllables in the third line. This alternate form was created by poet Jack Collom but instead of syllables, each line is 3/5/3 _words_. (It should all be single-spaced but for some reason, I can't make that happen on FF.)

(untitled)

Your head between

my legs, dark ribbons, midnight

across my thighs.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

All I Am

Here we are at one road's end

You and me hand in hand

Filled with doubt from where we been

Didn't turn out like we planned

All I am is the ground below the stars

All I am is a story written in scars

Stepping steady through shifting sand

In the end, that's all I am

No map to follow

No friend's advice

Folks won't listen, it ain't their life

It's up to us and the choice we make

Hold together or will we break?

All I am is the ground below the stars

All I am is a story written in scars

Stepping steady through shifting sand

In the end, that's all I am

You and I under darkening skies

I can't be the man you thought I'd be

But I'll keep walking if you'll walk with me

Walk with me, oh, won't you walk with me?

Walk with me

Walk with me

Walk with me

All I am is the ground below the stars

All I am is a story written in scars

Stepping steady through shifting sand

In the end, that's all I am

Stepping steady through shifting sand

In the end, that's all I am

All I am

All I am

All I am

By Adam Ezra and John Oats

* * *

Later that night, Allie leaned against the bedroom door frame and watched Chris stare at a photo on her dresser: Allie at her high school graduation, her parents standing on either side of her, all three of them smiling; beneath her graduation cap, her long, dark blonde hair flowed unbound down her back. He turned when she pushed herself away from the door and padded into the room, sporting a short-sleeved, white t-shirt and navy blue flannel lounge pants dotted with snowflakes. She saw the appreciation in his eyes as he looked at her, and thought about how he'd seen, touched, and tasted almost all of her earlier. "This wasn't here last night, was it?" he asked as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He was wearing the same flannel lounge pants he had the night before but no shirt. His arms encircled her.

"No. I pulled it out earlier today. After my parents died I stuck it in a drawer. It was too hard to look at it and realize I'd never have the chance to take the same photo at my college graduation. Actually, I packed up all the pictures of me and my parents that were around the house. They're in a box in the attic. I haven't wanted to bring any of them out again until now. When Stephen was around, I felt protective of my memories. I was afraid he would somehow take them away from me or just . . . I don't know, ruin them somehow. Does that make any sense?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied as he tucked her against his shoulder and rested his chin on the top of her head. She hugged him tightly and he chuckled. "I love when you do that."

"Do what?" she leaned back to look up at him.

"Hold me like you aren't gonna let go, eh." He smiled. No bridge tonight.

"Maybe I won't," she replied with a small smile of her own. He really did look adorable with those missing teeth—she could picture him as a little boy, all expressive, chocolate brown eyes, and thick, black hair, and sweet smile.

"It might be a little tough to practice with you hanging on, but I'd be willing to give it a try."

"We might shock your coach and your teammates."

"They'll just think I'm switching from ice hockey to ice dancing," he said.

She burst out laughing. "Oh, my God, Chris, I'm trying to picture you ice dancing!"

Sliding his fingers down her arms, he took one of her hands in his, stepped back, and twirled her round and round under their lifted arms. Her laughter filled the room as she spun. Finally, he caught her and pulled her against him, her back to his chest. Holding a hand in each of his, he hugged her from behind, their arms crossing the front of her body, and together they swayed. "I think I might be a natural." He kissed the side of her neck. "When did you cut your hair?"

She stilled in his arms. "After Stephen . . ."

He gathered her tighter and whispered against her ear, "I like your hair short. Better access." His lips trailed light kisses down the side of her neck to the top of her shoulder while his hands caressed her waist.

She melted into him, amazed and comforted, as always, by the warmth of his body and the way he enveloped, but did not overwhelm her. Her fingers traced up and down his arms and paused at the raised scar along his right bicep. She'd been wondering for awhile now, but had never felt comfortable enough, or brave enough, to ask. "Chris?"

"Hmmm?" he responded, lips still pressed to her skin.

"Tell me about your scars?" It was a question, not a demand. "You know all about mine." He rested his chin against the juncture of her neck and shoulder but said nothing. Allie tensed, concerned by his silence. "I'm sorry. You don't . . . you don't have to tell me anything," she finished quietly.

Chris straightened and turned her in his arms, his eyes roaming her face, his hands resting loosely around her hips. "It's OK, Allie. You're right. I do know about yours. And I understand what a leap of faith you took trusting me with the details." After a brief pause he continued, "Most are from playing hockey, eh." He pointed to the scar across his right forearm. "Skate blade a couple of years ago during a game." Next, he touched the one on his right bicep, "Skate blade when I was 15 on an outdoor rink. Went right through my jacket." He touched the one above his left eyebrow. "A nasty hit from behind knocked me off my feet against the boards." His fingers tapped his chin, "Stick during a pick-up game on one of my visits back home." He bent, pulled his right pant leg up to the knee and twisted to expose the back of his lower leg; a thick scar, about 5 inches long ran diagonally across his calf.

Allie could actually see where the stitches had been sewn, almost like a Frankenstein cartoon. "That one looks like it was really deep."

"Yeah, it was. When I was 10, trying to do a stunt on my bike."

"What kind of stunt?" she asked.

"A stupid one," he replied and grinned. "It was a bike we'd bought from a neighbor so it was kind of old, but it had two wheels, a seat, handle bars, and breaks that worked so I was happy. I thought it would be really cool if I could jump on and off it like some movie stuntman. Turned out, it was a lot harder than I expected. One of the pedals was broken. There was an exposed piece of metal. Sliced my leg open."

"That sounds painful. Your poor mother! You must have driven her crazy with worry!"

"A little. She has this grey streak right here," he said running his fingers through the hair at the top of his forehead. "She says I did that to her. But she was always pretty even-keeled no matter what we got into—no hysterics. She has this way about her that kept us all calm whenever anything like that happened. Not that she doesn't lose it if she gets pissed enough. When she's got Aretha Franklin on, you know you better leave her alone for a while!"

She laughed. "I can see how Aretha could sooth the soul." They had talked about their families before so she knew a little about his siblings, Craig and Bella, and that they too had Mohican middle names—Miyawin and Ayaks, respectively. It dawned on her that she'd used his for the first time earlier this evening when they were in her living room. It had felt right, and he didn't seem to mind. But as she watched him now, she sensed something else going on. Something he wasn't telling her. "How about this one?" she asked, lightly circling the jagged scar in the middle of his chest with a finger.

He hesitated before saying, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask about that one."

"If you don't want to—"

He silenced her with a gentle kiss. "It's just . . . this one is different. It's not from hockey or from something fun or stupid I tried to do."

"I feel you tense anytime I get near it."

As he looked at her with those dark, intense eyes, she saw a deep vulnerability she hadn't expected. He reached for her hand. "It happened a long time ago. It's not a pretty story."

She reached up and cupped his cheek. "It's not like my story is pretty, either, Chris."

"OK if we get a little more comfortable?" Holding his hand, she led him to her bed. He bunched a couple of pillows behind him while she sat cross-legged beside him. She held his hand within hers, ran a thumb across his knuckles. He took a deep breath and said, "I was kind of a late bloomer." At her surprised expression he continued, "kind of small until I was about 16 or 17. When Craig graduated high school, he left home to find work. That's when it became my job to watch out for Bella. I mean, he never said it outright, but I took it on." She nodded. Knowing what she did about him, she wasn't surprised. "My parents—they're great. They were never 'helicopter parents.' They let us fight our own battles, but we always knew they were there for us. My brother's amazing. You've called me 'fearless,' but it's only because of him. He was big and strong and didn't take shit from anyone. But he can be really sweet when he wants."

"That sounds like someone else I know," she interjected.

He shook his head, "Not like Craig. He could have played hockey professionally, too, but my parents couldn't afford for both of us to play. He claimed his heart wasn't in it the way mine was. So he stopped playing in high school, except for pickup games and practicing with me. I owe him a lot." He paused before continuing. "Being Indian wasn't always easy. Most people were cool about it, but you know, there are always assholes out there. There are a lot of reserves in the Kamloops area but not many Indian kids in the public school. Most of them go to schools on the reserves." He closed his eyes a moment and gripped her hand more firmly. "It happened when I was 12. You ever hear of the Sun Dance?"

"I remember learning about it in school. I always wondered how someone could survive that kind of pain."

"It's a religious ceremony. A warrior volunteers to do it. And would be proud to. It ensures a tribe's well being, the well being of family and friends, reconnects with the life around you. It's practiced differently by different tribes but most people know it by that George Catlin drawing. Do you know the one I mean?"

"Is that the one where a string or something is attached to a warrior's chest and he's hanging from some kind of pole, for like, days?"

"That's the one."

Her eyes darted between the scar and his face as her hand went to her mouth. She was fearful of what he might tell her. But she wanted to know, to understand him, as she hoped he did her.

And so, bit by bit, Chris told Allie how he'd acquired that scar.

* * *

"Christopher Uncas Tobias! Bella Ayaks Tobias! Time for school! Let's go!" their mom yelled from the bottom of the steps. 12-year old Chris and 10-year old Bella dashed out of their respective bedrooms, fighting to get by one another at the top of the steps. "Stop right there!" They froze and stared down at her. Bella's long, black pony tail swayed across her back; Chris tucked the strands of hair that dangled on either side of his cheeks behind his ears. "You know the rules."

As Chris stepped back to let his little sister go first, they chanted in unison, "Don't run in the house or we'll fall and break our necks."

"I'm glad you remember," she smiled, "have a good day!"

Walking to school was OK. It was the walk home that could sometimes be treacherous. Ever since Craig had left home this past summer, they'd lost their protector. Most of the kids at school were nice but there was one group in Chris' class led by a kid who, for some reason, did not like him. It seemed to stem from oral reports they'd been assigned the previous year about their respective heritages. Chris remembered how he'd been proud to talk about his Mohican and Inuit ancestry. But ever since, Zack had called him "Injun Joe."

One early spring afternoon, Chris stayed after school for some extra help with math. He asked Bella to wait for him, but she'd grown impatient and started walking on her own. When Chris finally left school, he judged that she would be less than halfway home; he ran to catch up. As he rounded a corner, he spied a group of five boys, about his age, surrounding someone; it did not look like a friendly encounter. When he got closer, he saw it was Zack and his cohorts. He wavered between interfering and crossing the street to avoid the whole thing. One foot stepped off the curb when a gap opened up among the group of boys. A girl was in the middle of the cluster, one of the boys pulling her long, black pony tail. Bella.

He yelled her name as he ran towards them. Zack turned his head, laughed and said, "Perfect." One by one, the boys stepped away and Bella fell to the ground. She was trying to get up, tears forging trails in the blood on her face.

The rage that sprang inside Chris was like nothing he'd ever felt before. A red haze seemed to cloud his vision. He barreled towards Zack and head butted him in the stomach. With a whoosh of air, Zack toppled like a felled tree. Immediately, the other four boys jumped on Chris and yanked him back. He struggled but couldn't break loose from their hold. Breathing heavily and cradling his stomach, Zack picked himself up from the ground, advanced on Chris and punched him in the gut. Chris doubled over. One of the other boys pulled his hair, wrenching his head up so Zack could pound him a few times.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he heard Bella call his name. He shifted his eyes and saw one of the boys backhand her. She must have approached them to try to help. But HE should be saving HER, not the other way around.

"Hey, you kids! What are you doing?" a voice rang out. A car had stopped on the other side of the street.

As one, the boys released Chris and he tumbled to the ground. Just before they ran, Zack muttered, "This isn't over."

Chris pushed himself into a sitting position. Bella knelt by him. A woman poked her head out of the driver's side window and asked, "You kids OK?" Chris looked up. "Where do you live? I can give you a ride home."

"No, thanks," Chris managed. Slowly, he rose from the sidewalk and took Bella's hand. "We don't live far."

"I'll call the police."

"No! Please don't call the police," Chris begged, "We'll tell my parents. They'll take care of it."

The woman nodded. "You sure I can't give you a lift?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Thank you," Chris said. By now, he and Bella were both on their feet, if a little shaky. Hand–in-hand, they began their silent walk home.

When they entered the house, their Alaskan Husky, Nanuk, pattered up, tail wagging. She sniffed their legs then whined. "It's OK, girl," Bella said, petting the dog between the ears. They let her out into the fenced-in backyard.

"I'm sorry," Chris stuttered. Tears had mixed in with the blood on his own face. "What happened?"

"They were just hanging out when I walked by. They came at me."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should have been there. I should have stopped them. Instead, they beat the crap out of me."

"Chris, there were five of them! What were you supposed to do? You can't fight them all! And Zack, he's bigger than you."

"I'm sorry," he said once again.

"We better get cleaned up before Mom and Dad get home."

When they'd washed the blood away, they discovered their injuries were not as severe as they might have been. Bella had a cut lip and a bruise was forming on her right cheek. A large bruise was purpling on Chris' stomach; he had a black eye and a small cut on his lip.

When their mother came home from work, she checked their injuries. Her gaze fixed on the two of them. She stated, "We will talk about this when your father gets home."

Dinner that night was a bit awkward until their father finally asked, "What happened?" Neither of them replied. "Ayaks." When he used their Mohican names, they knew there was no dodging his questions.

She looked down at her plate before answering. "Some kids from school," she said.

Chris had been gripping his fork so tightly, his knuckles turned white. His shame and anger at himself for not protecting his sister overwhelmed him at this moment so he kept his mouth shut.

Their father stared at them a few minutes before saying, "You will let me know if I need to get involved? If I need to talk to the principal?"

"Yes, daddy. We're OK. Really. Just a few bruises."

He looked dubious but Chris knew his dad had been through similar incidents when he was a kid and would not interfere unless he felt it might go too far. His mother, on the other hand, despite her constantly calm demeanor, could go ballistic if she felt the need.

"Is this the first time anything like this has happened?" she asked.

Bella and Chris nodded in unison. Of course, their parents didn't know about the times Craig had run interference for them. And Chris so wanted to be like his brother, but he'd failed today. His sister looked battered and he felt like the biggest loser in the world.

Several weeks passed and a sense of security settled over them. Their bruises healed and they made sure to always walk home together, had even recruited a couple of friends to accompany them sometimes. Chris and his friends kept a vigilant eye on Zack, but aside from a few name calling episodes, things had remained calm. And Chris' parents had not interfered, although they occasionally broached the subject to make sure they were alright. But of course, bullies like Zack didn't just stop for no reason.

Bella had been home sick with a terrible sore throat for a few days; Chris had walked home with two friends. But this particular Friday afternoon, both boys had had to leave immediately after school for family obligations. As he had each day Bella had been out, Chris went to her teachers to get her assignments. He found himself alone, leaving about 15 minutes after dismissal. His backpack was overstuffed with both his and Bella's weekend schoolwork—it felt like it weighed as much as he did.

At about the same spot where Zack and his friends had attacked Bella, Chris was grabbed from behind. With the backpack throwing his balance off, it took very little effort to knock him to the ground. Four boys held him down, the backpack wedged under him. Zack sat astride his stomach and punched him in the face. He tried to fight them, but the boys clamped onto his arms and legs so he could barely move. After the third punch, Zack declared, "Let's go." The four boys hauled Chris up by his arms. He stumbled, blood dripping from his nose and mouth as they dragged him to the backyard of a nearby house. "You sure your parents won't be home soon?" Zack asked one of the boys.

"Yeah. It's cool."

When Chris lifted his head, he blinked at what he saw, his breath catching in his throat. A large maple tree stood majestic, proud in the fenced-in yard. A fishing line swung from a branch of the tree. His eyes followed the nylon line from the barbed hook, up and around the branch, and down to the rod leaning against the trunk. Zack strolled up to the line and caught the swaying hook between his thumb and forefinger.

"Injun Joe," he began, "you're so proud of your heritage, we thought you should have the chance to prove what a brave warrior you are. Thought you could do a little Sun Dance for us."

Except for the heavy breaths surging in and out of his lungs, Chris remained perfectly still. But even if he'd wanted to move, the four boys holding him wouldn't have allowed it.

"Get him down," Zack ordered. The boys wrestled Chris, shoving him to the ground; his back arched over the bulk of the pack. Again, he tried to fight back but they overpowered him. Zack ambled up, pressed a knee into one of Chris' thighs, knelt over him and used the hook to tear his shirt open. Chris flinched, eyes riveted on the hook between Zack's fingers.

"Fox," his brother's voice echoed in his head, "you can do this. It's a great honor. Remember that. It's not torture like these whites think it is. You're a warrior. You can do it." He braced himself when Zack grasped a pinch of skin in the middle of his chest and stabbed it through with the hook. Chris yelped. His body bucked in agony, blood seeping from the shallow wounds. The pain seared him and he tried to stifle his gasps.

Zack grabbed the rod and began to reel in the line as if Chris was a snagged fish. Slowly, his body lifted off the ground, the skin on his chest straining against the hook. The backpack added weight to the taut line. "Fucking heavy, man," Zack said, "help me." The biggest kid in the group reached around Zack. Together, they gripped the rod and heaved, raising Chris higher. The skin between his pectoral muscles tightened along the hook. He whimpered. The straps of the backpack began slipping. He shook his arms to free himself of the extra weight, tried to use his feet to take some of the strain away from his chest. Every time he moved, the hook shifted, anguish burning through him. He was doing this for Bella; he could withstand the pain as a warrior would. It was an honor. But it was unbearable—the pierced skin stretching like a rubber band against the hook. A shout erupted from him as he was lifted even higher, feet barely touching the ground. Tears leaked from his eyes. Zack and his minion suddenly yanked the rod so hard, the hook ripped free of Chris' skin. He fell back with a cry, body landing on the backpack then rolling off. Sobs tore out of him. He pressed a hand to his chest to staunch the blood. Zack kicked him in the belly, causing his body to curl into itself.

"Not such a tough warrior are you, Injun Joe?"

* * *

Chris had been staring at their intertwined hands during most of the telling. Now, he looked up. Tears pooled at the edge of Allie's eyes. When she blinked they rolled down her cheeks like twin streams. He closed his eyes. "I couldn't do it, Allie. I failed. I failed Bella. I failed the Sun Dance."

She rose onto her knees, took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "You did not fail," she whispered fiercely. "You were 12 years old, Chris. It's not like you volunteered to do it and prepared for it and trained for it. They wanted to hurt you. Humiliate you. But you . . . you survived. And look at you now." He shook his head. But she would not let him off so easily. "It's why you became an enforcer, isn't it? Because those bullies hurt your sister. Hurt you. And you want to protect and fight for those who maybe can't do it for themselves. My God, Chris, you are so courageous. So strong. Not just physically. But you've never used that strength against me or anyone weaker than you."

He shook his head again, and finally, his tears overflowed. They came in long, muffled sobs, chest heaving. His arms encircled her as he collapsed. She crooned his Mohican name and whispered, "You are my brave Uncas. My strong Fox." She pressed him to her and lay back, bringing him with her, running her fingers through his hair, over his shoulders, along his back. He curled into her side, his cheek resting just below her collarbone. She could feel his warm, wet tears along her skin, his whole body convulsing with long ago pain. If only she could take it all away from him, as he had so often said he wanted to do for her. "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I'm so sorry you had to endure those bullies and what they did to you and your sister."

Eventually, his tears ceased and he sniffled a few times before propping himself up onto his forearms and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The gesture endeared him to her even more because again, she glimpsed the little boy he'd been, trying so hard to live up to what his brother meant to him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I've never told anyone outside my family."

That he should entrust her with this part of himself brought a lump to her throat. She brushed back the hair from his face, traced her thumb across the remaining rivulets on his cheeks. "Thank you for telling me, Chris. Your trust means so much to me."

Their eyes locked. Their lips met. Not in a kiss of sexual passion, but in a kiss of comfort and warmth and support. Another barrier shattered. He rolled onto his back with her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She raised herself up and slowly, so that he could stop her at any time, she laid a hand on his chest then bowed her head. Tenderly, she kissed the scar that had caused him so much pain and anger. When she looked up at him, his eyes were sparkling once again with unshed tears. "Brave, strong, and beautiful," she whispered.

"Like you," he whispered back.

After what felt like one of the longest days of each of their lives, they slept soundly, wrapped within the security of one another's arms, the outside world far, far away.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Ayaks – "Star" in Mohican

Miyawin (accent over the "a") – "Giver" in Mohican

Nanuk – "Polar Bear" in Inuit

 ** _Music:_** I do not own the rights to any of the lyrics used or songs referenced in this chapter.

"All I Am" by Adam Ezra and John Oats from Hurricane Wind. To me, this expresses Chris' feelings—his doubts about himself but also about how he tries to live up to his own, high expectations. And it's such a beautiful, tender song. Take a listen to Adam Ezra and John Oats singing it together (you can find it online).

"Ghosts I" (track 9 on Ghosts I-IV) – the first attack on Bella and Chris and the aftermath.

"Ghosts I" (track 8 on Ghosts I-IV) – when the boys attack Chris and force him to do the Sun Dance.

"Ghosts IV" (track 28 on Ghosts I-IV) – after Chris finishes telling Allie his story.

Much of the music from Ghosts I-IV (by Nine Inch Nails, written by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross) was used in Ken Burns and Lynn Novik's documentary, The Vietnam War. I found the music to be sometimes terrifying, sometimes heartrendingly beautiful, sometimes so solemn and sad, but always haunting. (I referenced another track at the end of Chapter 7 for when Stephen beat Allie again.) To me, these instrumental pieces set such strong moods. Any songs with lyrics that I considered just didn't feel right for this point in this story. (The music can be found online.)

As far as Chris' mom being an Aretha Franklin fan, I have to share this with you all. Recently, I read a book where her album, Spirit in the Dark, was referenced. I'd never listened to that album, so out of curiosity I borrowed it from my local library. WOW! It's an AMAZING album. And despite this being a really rough week at work, every time I played it, it made me happy and want to dance. And the really weird thing was that Allie and Chris kept popping up in my head dancing together and laughing—having a blast. I kept wondering where that was coming from. The first time, I ignored it, but EVERY TIME I played it, I got the same scene in my head. So I realized there must be something there. Then it hit me, Chris' mom is an Aretha Franklin fan and Aretha gets her through the tough times in her life! I love when that kind of thing happens! It's just THERE in your head and you have absolutely no control over it. I've learned to listen to my characters when they talk to me!

 ** _Chris' other scars:_**

I tried to echo, at least in part, the cuts Uncas gets during his fight with Magua on the cliffs—the ones on his right forearm and bicep.

The one above his left eyebrow was one I watched a hockey player (one of my faves) get during a game I attended. "My guy" was controlling the puck along the boards and a player from the opposite team cross-checked him from behind; he fell to his knees then the guy kind of pushed his head along the edge of the boards. It was awful to watch—when my guy got up from the ice, blood was running down the side of his face past his helmet's chin strap, over his jersey; he kept wiping it away but the cut kept bleeding. They "butterflied" it so he could play the power play that had resulted from that cross-check; he scored an unassisted goal! It was very dramatic! He eventually got stitched up but he played the entire game—even scored the winning goal in overtime. He was a fucking trooper that game!

The one on Chris' calf is actually one my husband has which he got doing a stunt similar to the one Chris describes. The only difference is that the cut my husband got was from the metal fender of the bike not the pedal's exposed metal. The bike was a "banana bike." Anyone else remember those bikes from back in the day?! Since Chris wasn't a kid during the 70s I didn't think he'd have a banana bike so I altered that part. When my husband was re-telling his story, he looked at me and said, "Those bikes were dangerous!" Who knew! It was the 70s and we also rode in the back of pick-up trucks (at least I did)! By the way, my mother-in-law always says that my husband, when he was a kid, caused her first grey hair-it appeared right at the front, just like Chris' mom!

 ** _General stuff:_**

This was a difficult chapter for me to write, as you might guess. The Sun Dance is, as Chris tells Allie, a religious ceremony practiced among various Indian Nations of North America. Warriors volunteered to do it because it was an honor. Sometimes they prepared for a year before the actual ceremony; it is a serious and important ritual. I think whites tend to think of it as torture—clearly, Zack and his friends saw it that way and their main goal was to hurt and humiliate Chris in a way that, in their minds, would be devastating. So I was trying to be very sensitive to the cultural differences here. How Chris and his parents dealt with it will be touched upon in the next chapter. If you are curious about the picture Chris is talking about, it can be found online; use search terms, "Sun Dance George Catlin" and click on the Britannica entry. It should include a photo of Plate 97.

"Brave, strong, and beautiful." Allie echoes what Uncas said to Alice in my other story, At the Fort, "You are brave and strong and beautiful." I believe so firmly that these two characters are all of these things (and more) no matter what time period or situation in which they are placed. I was waffling about using almost the exact same line, but I decided that it was OK since this time, Allie/Alice says it to Chris/Uncas. I think it emphasizes the growing trust between them, and her own strength returning to her after all she's been through. I think that if they'd lived beyond the cliffs in LOTM, we would have seen more examples of her courage and strength. And after all, Chris and Allie are still Uncas and Alice!

 ** _Thank you:_**

Big thank you to BrynnaRaven for being my beta reader for the sections about the Sun Dance. Her archaeology background and insights were very helpful in making sure I gave due respect and the proper perspective to this ceremony.

As always, MohawkWoman and BrynnaRaven, I love bouncing ideas off you both—you remind me to follow my "writer's instincts." And your friendship and support mean the world to me. All you other wonderful LOTM fans—you continue to inspire me with your suggestions, insights, and support, especially Conbird, MedicineWoman815, and suchgoodluck. (I'm loving the new forum BrynnaRaven started!)

And again, please review or message, especially if you think there are things that are out of character or simply don't work in this story or if you have any questions about the goings on in BDL. As I keep saying, I'd like to make this as realistic as I can but with a bit of drama, too.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

I Am the Highway

Pearls and swine bereft of me  
Long and weary my road has been  
I was lost in the cities  
Alone in the hills  
No sorrow or pity for leaving I feel

I am not your rolling wheels  
I am the highway  
I am not your carpet ride  
I am the sky

Friends and liars don't wait for me  
I'll get on all by myself  
I put millions of miles  
Under my heels  
And still too close to you  
I feel

I am not your rolling wheels  
I am the highway  
I am not your carpet ride  
I am the sky

I am not your blowing wind  
I am the lightning  
I am not your autumn moon  
I am the night  
The night

I am not your rolling wheels  
I am the highway  
I am not your carpet ride  
I am the sky

I am not your blowing wind  
I am the lightning  
I am not your autumn moon  
I am the night  
The night

Songwriters: Brad Wilk / Chris Cornell / Timothy Commerford / Tom Morello

I Am the Highway lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

* * *

Even after Allie slid from beneath the arm lying across her belly, Chris slept soundly on his stomach. His face was turned towards her, black hair splayed behind him across the pillow, long lashes resting above sharp cheekbones. The flannel sheets on her bed covered him up to his waist, leaving his shoulders and back open to her perusal. His warm, cinnamon skin almost glowed in the early morning sunlight. Staring at him, she couldn't believe all they'd shared in such a short period of time. His childhood experience at the hands of those horrible boys cut her deeply, and she wondered how he'd survived such an ordeal to remain the honorable, good person he was today. Someone else who'd suffered as he had could have easily turned in a different direction. As she gazed at him, she realized she hadn't felt this close to anyone since her revelations to Cora about her relationship with Stephen. She wondered what would come next, how Stephen might react to being served the Protection from Abuse order.

Chris had been so wiped last night; she didn't want to disturb his sleep. It was only 7:00 and he didn't have to be at practice until 10:00. She slipped quietly out of her bedroom. While waiting for her coffee to brew, she called work and left a message for Alexandra to call back when she had a few minutes. Before she could put her phone down, a call came through. Cora. "Hi. You still at work?" Allie asked.

"Just got off," Cora replied. "Wanted to let you know that Stephen's out of town."

"Out of town?"

"Something happened with his father on Sunday—a stroke, I think." When Allie didn't respond, Cora prompted, "Allie?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I just . . . I never met his parents—they live in Michigan. I don't think they're that old, either."

"They're not. His dad is like 70."

"Wow. I'm sorry to hear the news."

"He probably won't be served until he gets back. That will delay the hearing. But he's gone, at least for a while. My friends in ICU can keep me posted on what's going on with him."

"Is it shitty to say I'm glad he's gone, even if I'm sorry for the reason?"

"Nope. Maybe now you can relax a little."

"That would be really, really good. Stress levels have been over the top lately."

"Just a little," Cora said. "I'm on my way home. Talk later."

"OK. Thanks."

"What's up?" Chris' sleepy voice. He came up behind Allie, wrapped his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck.

After she told him Cora's news he said, "That's cause for celebration. I mean, shit, not that his father had a stroke—"

"I know what you mean, Chris," she cut in as she turned in his arms and linked her hands around his neck. He'd put on a white t-shirt. She hadn't heard him approach; when she looked down, she saw his feet were bare. "I had the same reaction." Her eyes roamed his face looking for any sign he may be regretting what he'd shared with her.

"What?" he asked.

"You alright? I mean, after what you told me last night."

He closed his eyes briefly before replying, "Yeah. I'm OK. You?"

She nodded. "Thank you for trusting me."

"We've got a good mutual trust thing going on here," he said, and offered a half smile. She responded in kind. "You going to work today?"

"I decided to ask Alexandra for some time off. I'm hoping to go in today and talk to her. I'll have to tell her what's been going on."

"Think she'll understand?"

"Oh, yeah. She has a cousin who went through something similar. I just have to finally open up to her about it."

"Want me there with you?"

"No, Chris. But thanks. Go to practice. We can talk afterwards." She pulled out of his arms to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Can I ask you something about what happened?"

Chris was opening cabinets. "Anything," he replied.

"What are you looking for?"

"Huh? Oh. A glass."

"Top, left cabinet next to the 'fridge."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to rifle through your cabinets."

Allie laughed. "It's OK." As Chris poured himself a glass of milk, Allie continued, "What did your parents do? I mean, what those boys did to you—that was a hate crime."

He sat on one of the stools at the counter and took a deep breath. "It was tough for them. The Sun Dance isn't part of the Inuit or Mohican culture, but they understand what it means. I think they were trying to walk a line with me between the bullying, the racism, and the reverence due the Sun Dance. My mom went a little crazy. I mean, she was ready to go after those kids and kick their asses herself—and that's putting it mildly. My dad stayed amazingly calm; he talked her down. He used it as a chance to reinforce in us his whole belief system about living honorably and paying homage to our heritage. Be proud of who we are. But especially, don't let other people define us."

"That's how you developed your personal code of honor as an enforcer," she stated as she leaned on the counter next to him.

He nodded. "Pretty much. My dad has always been a 'lead-by-example' kind of guy. He has this sort of quiet authority about him that . . . I don't know . . . you can't help but respect. At least that's how it felt to us kids. Still does, eh."

"What happened with those boys?"

"My parents talked to the principal. They tried to explain to him about the Sun Dance and how what those kids did was a distortion of a sacred ritual. I'm not sure he totally got it, but since it didn't happen on school grounds, there wasn't much he could do. And my parents didn't want to involve the police because they thought the whole thing would just spin out of control. And for sure the principal didn't want the cops involved either—it would look pretty bad for the school. They ended up instituting some anti-bullying and cultural sensitivity initiatives."

"Did those kids leave you and Bella alone after that?"

"Mostly. They were on the radar now so they sort of had to lay off. Two of the boys moved at the end of the school year, so Zack started losing his entourage. The other two, their parents actually made them apologize to us."

"And Zack?"

"He did stupid stuff."

"Like?"

"Slam his shoulder into me as he walked by. Try to trip me in class. Call me names. Dumb stuff that honestly, got really boring after a while, eh. Kids started ignoring him. What he did, it sort of had the opposite effect of what he probably wanted, especially once his two buds moved away. And believe me I didn't go around telling people what happened. Zack bragged about it, but most of the kids felt really bad about the whole thing. To them, it was just a horrible thing to do to someone. And me being on the hockey team helped—I had the support of my teammates. They wanted to go after him, but I told them no. I just wanted to forget it all. Put it behind me." Chris stopped.

She ran her fingers lightly along his forearm. "You guys stand by each other. Protect each other." Chris nodded once but remained silent. Allie's phone went off. "It's Alexandra."

* * *

While Allie spoke with her supervisor, Chris thought about what he'd done to Fontaine. He'd not been very honorable or protective Sunday night. Since Coach had excused Fontaine from yesterday's practice to give him some time to heal, and, Chris suspected, to keep the two of them apart for a little while, he hadn't had to face him. Some of his teammates had looked at him a little uncomfortably but Chris tried to put them at ease with his usual easy going nature. And most of them had known him long enough to realize how out of character he'd behaved; they guessed Le Rat probably had it coming. But he would eventually need to apologize to Fontaine, to his teammates, and to Coach.

* * *

Chris headed off to practice and Allie went to the preschool to talk to Alexandra. As they sat in her office, Alexandra's eyes roamed Allie's face. When she spied the fading bruises on her cheeks and neck she asked, "Allie, what's been going on?" Allie looked down, unable to meet her gaze just yet. "That hockey player do that to you?"

Allie's head jerked up. "No. He's been . . . he's been amazing, actually."

"I'm glad to hear it. Who, then?"

"My ex-boyfriend."

"The nurse?" Alexandra sat back in her chair; a stunned look crossed her face.

Allie nodded.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Abusers come in all shapes and sizes. My cousin's husband was a college prof. The ex—he's the one who landed you in the hospital right before you started working here? I'm guessing you didn't fall down the steps like you said. Unless he pushed you."

Allie shook her head. "No. I didn't fall down the steps." Gradually, she shared the pertinent parts of her story without the "gory details" of her injuries and exactly how she'd acquired them.

"I'm so glad you filed the Order of Protection," Alexandra said.

"I heard he's out of town for a family medical emergency, but I don't know how long he'll be gone. But if I could, I'd like to take a little time off, just to kind of get my head back together."

"Of course!" Alexandra did not hesitate. "It'll give you a chance to concentrate on yourself without anything else to worry about—not work, not him. Just you," she said, "and you've covered for other staff plenty of times. Now it's your turn."

Alexandra's empathy overwhelmed Allie a little. It still surprised her that people could be so caring, especially because sometimes, despite what she knew intellectually, that what Stephen had done to her wasn't her fault, emotionally, she still couldn't help feeling like she had somehow caused him to behave as he had towards her.

After she left the preschool, Allie felt a bit lighthearted and decided to do some shopping in town. She was looking for a particular sporting goods store. When she found what she wanted, she smiled to herself and headed home.

* * *

Fontaine was at practice, but didn't suit up. Instead, he sat at the players' bench watching the action on the ice. Chris could feel his eyes follow him as he went through drills. He tried to put the a—hole out of his mind and focus on the task at hand. By the time practice ended, Fontaine was gone and Chris approached Coach.

The large man turned towards him. "Tobias, we should talk." Chris nodded and followed Coach into his tiny office. The fact that Coach stood, arms folded across his chest, leaning against his desk instead of sitting behind it, was a good sign. It put them practically knee to knee instead of three feet apart. Maybe he wouldn't get the reaming out he'd been expecting since Sunday night. Hands clasped between his knees, eyes cast down, Chris sat in an old wooden chair Coach seemed to prefer over any new-fangled aerodynamically designed seating.

"You know I like you, Chris, right?"

Surprised to hear Coach use his first name, Chris looked up. "Yeah, Coach. You've always been fair with me. With all of us."

"You're a good kid. I've never had a problem with you in the five years you've been with this team. But what you did to Fontaine, there's no excuse."

"I know, Coach." After a brief pause, Chris said, "he seems to be doing alright even though he's not practicing."

"He won't end up missing any games. Luckily. He's just bruised. But that's not the point. You know that."

"Yeah," Chris admitted. "I'm sorry. I'll apologize to him and the rest of the guys. The last thing I want is to cause problems for the team."

Coach stared at him a moment before continuing. "You want to tell me what he did to provoke you?" Chris' eyebrows shot up. "I'm not blind. I know Fontaine can be a pain in the ass. But he's a damn good hockey player. Too good to be sidelined with an injury inflicted by one of his own teammates. So, you want to tell me what happened?"

Chris leaned back, more relaxed now. Coach was always tough, but fair. Yet, he did not want to talk to him about Allie. He shook his head, "Just some personal stuff. Nothing I want to get into. It won't happen again. Ever." He looked steadily at Coach.

"You don't want to talk about it. Fair enough. But you still ride the pine, at least for the next three games. Like I said, you suit up, but you don't play."

"I understand."

"Good. Be ready to practice with him tomorrow morning," Coach said. They were done. Chris rose and reached for the door. "Tobias," Coach said quietly, "watch your back. Fontaine can be a nasty son of a bitch."

Chris looked back at Coach, nodded then left the office.

In the locker room, Chris found Evan. "Le Rat around?"

"He left right after practice. What'd Coach want?" Evan replied as he pulled on his jeans.

"Talk to me about Sunday night."

"You suspended or what?"

"No. Riding the pine for the next three games. He could have fined me, too, so I can't complain. And it's probably thanks to you, Otawindeht. I'm sorry, man. Really sorry I let myself lose it like that."

"I told you, Fox. It's cool. No worries. You coming home tonight? Jackie's starting to ask questions about this woman who's got you wrapped around her finger."

Chris laughed. "I'm going to ask her to come on Saturday. You guys can meet her then. If she wants to come." He was referring to the annual holiday party the Blades organization held for the players, team staff, arena staff, and anyone else connected to the team.

"Have you told her about your charming, handsome friend, yet or are you worried she'll fall for me instead?" Evan accompanied this quip with a bright smile that included all of his own teeth as he slipped a white undershirt over his head.

Chuckling, Chris replied, "She saw you play last Saturday. She was impressed! Even watched your interview after the game"

Sliding his arms into a brown and grey plaid flannel shirt, Evan joked, "Yeah? Wait until she meets me in the flesh!"

Chris just shook his head. Evan's easy charm and warmth never failed to lighten Chris' mood. "Don't think Jackie would be too happy about that."

"Aw, Jackie. She's the best."

"She is, Otawindeht. I'm glad you appreciate her."

Before he left the rink that day, Chris spoke with his teammates who were still around. He apologized to each of them for the incident on Sunday night. To their credit, even though they didn't know what Fontaine had said or done to piss off Chris, they seemed to accept his apology. He'd built up enough goodwill over the years that they all knew the kind of person he was and probably guessed that whatever had caused him to lose his temper must have been pretty bad. Tomorrow, before practice, he'd catch Fontaine and the few guys who'd already gone. Surprisingly, he felt a bit lighter. He rolled his shoulders a couple of times; tension he hadn't realized he was holding in eased out of him.

* * *

It was about 1:00 when he arrived at Allie's house. She'd prepared lunch for them—tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and a small salad.

"Wow! I wasn't expecting this! Thanks, sweetheart." He kissed her. As they sat at her kitchen peninsula, he asked, "What did Alexandra say?"

"She gave me the rest of this week and next week off. That will take me to Christmas. We're closed the week between Christmas and New Years so it's really three weeks."

"That's great! You won't feel like you have to look over your shoulder all the time."

"You, too," she replied.

He nodded. "So, Evan and his girlfriend, Jackie, want to meet you. Think you're up to it?"

"Yeah, Chris. I think so. What do you want to do? Have them here or at your place?"

"I had something else in mind." He told her about the Blades holiday event on Saturday. "There's food, music, the ice is open to anyone who wants to skate. It's a good chance for all of us to just hang between games. We get a little break this weekend. Game tomorrow night and Thursday night then nothing until next Monday and Tuesday, right before Christmas."

"Do I need to wear anything special? I mean, is Blades regalia required?" she asked, smiling.

Chris returned her smile. "You have a pair of ice skates?" he asked.

"Not since I was a kid."

"Then we need to get you a pair. It's casual, though. Most of the guys bring their girlfriends, wives, kids. A couple of them might bring their dogs."

"Do the dogs skate?" she asked, laughing.

"One of them does. Big golden retriever. She loves the ice! Wait until you see her!"

"Sounds like fun. And it will be great to meet Evan and Jackie. They sound really nice."

"Just don't be taken in by Evan's charm and the fact that he has all his teeth."

Allie laughed again. "No worries there. You're my favorite toothless Fox," she quipped. His laugh and smile brightened Allie's entire world. She still marveled that they'd found each other, especially when she thought back to how she'd tried to push him away when they'd first met.

After a few amicably silent moments, Allie broached a subject she was a little worried about but felt she needed to. "Chris?"

"Mmm?" he mumbled around a mouthful of grilled cheese.

"Since you have a game tomorrow night and Thursday, I was thinking it might be better for you if you didn't stay overnight with me for the next couple of days." She was looking down at her soup and chanced a glance up at his face to gauge his reaction. He swallowed and put his sandwich down; she could see he was giving her his full attention. "It's not that I don't want you to be here with me. Believe me," she rushed on, "but I feel like you've changed your entire routine for me and I don't want you to keep doing that. You need to concentrate on yourself. And now that Stephen is gone, at least for a while, I'll be safe." When he did not immediately reply, she continued, "Chris. Say something. You mad?" He shook his head. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," he replied. "Actually, I was kind of thinking the same thing. I want to get back into my game-day routine, but I didn't want you to think I was abandoning you or anything." She hopped up and wrapped her arms around him, nearly knocking him off his stool. He caught her around the waist and regained his balance. "Allie. Sweetheart," he said against her neck, "don't ever be afraid to say _anything_ to me. Don't hide what you're thinking or feeling because you're scared of how I'll react." Her arms tightened around him. He must have heard her soft sniffle as a few tears slid from her eyes. "Allie?"

She drew back, took in a long breath and whispered, "Thank you. I know that sounds lame, but . . . thank you for that, Chris."

Pushing the hair off her face he said, "You don't have to thank me, Allie. We care about each other, right? That means we should be honest and ask for whatever it is we need from one another."

She swallowed, nodded. "I'm just not used to this. Obviously, my relationship with Stephen was a little bit different, to say the least. And the few guys I dated before him . . . well, let's just say we were young and pretty immature."

Chris stood, Allie still wrapped in his arms. "Well, you found yourself a man, now, honey!" he growled his version of a tough, cowboy accent. He swung her to the side and dipped her like they were doing The Tango.

"Whoa! I can see that, cowboy! My man," she said laughing.

"My woman," he replied grinning and pulled her back up. She fell against his chest, still laughing.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Music – I do not own the rights to "I Am the Highway"

Initially, I thought this song had a place earlier in the story and reflected only Chris' feelings. But once Chris told Allie what happened to him and his sister, things changed. I think the original Audioslave version fits where Chris' emotions are right now; it's very "anthemic" and big. I've also come to realize that Chris Cornell's solo, acoustic version reflects how Allie is feeling towards Chris. Their positions (i.e feelings) in relation to each other are beginning to move closer together and merge onto the same road. They are becoming a place of comfort and safety for one other.

All the lines in the refrain reflect (and I may be completely wrong here, but this is how it hits me) what I think Chris and Allie are trying to _be_ for one another and what they both need:

"I am not your rolling wheels/I am the highway" – the highway laid out before you and which you can take where ever your wheels want to go—you are in control

"I am not your carpet ride/I am the wind" – I am the wind whose currents you can ride where ever you want to take that magic carpet—I'll carry you but won't direct you

"I am not your blowing wind/I am the lightning" - the wind blows where it wants to go; the lightning illuminates the wind's direction

"I am not your autumn moon/I am the night" – because the night is the perfect setting for the moon to shine its bright, beautiful light onto the world—especially that big, orange harvest moon; when we see the moon in the daytime it looks faint and pale but at night it's luminous.

I think Chris is trying so hard to support Allie without directing her or forcing her into anything. He so much wants to be there for her without overwhelming her. And now, Allie has the same opportunity with Chris. This song has been in my head since I first began this rewrite; I just knew it was one of the main themes. But it's funny how it ended up manifesting into something that fits both Chris and Allie. Sometimes, these characters take you to unexpected places. One of the wonderful experiences of writing!

A big thank you to MohawkWoman who kindly beta read the beginning of this chapter. And to both her and BrynnaRaven for beta reading the end!

You may have noticed the new image I've put up for this story. A HUGE thank you to BrynnaRaven and MohawkWoman for their generosity-this is one of Panda Capuccino's absolutely beautiful pieces! I think she captured Allie and Chris to perfection! (I own the artwork. Please do not copy or repost without permission.)

As always, comments and reviews are welcome. I am especially curious about your thoughts on how Chris' parents handled what happened to him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Times like These"

I, I'm a one way motorway  
I'm the one that drives away  
Then follows you back home  
I, I'm a street light shining  
I'm a wild light blinding bright  
Burning off alone

It's times like these you learn to live again  
It's times like these you give and give again  
It's times like these you learn to love again  
It's times like these time and time again

I, I'm a new day rising  
I'm a brand new sky  
To hang the stars upon tonight  
I am a little divided  
Do I stay or run away  
And leave it all behind?

It's times like these you learn to live again  
It's times like these you give and give again  
It's times like these you learn to love again  
It's times like these time and time again

(Live version from Skin and Bones)

Songwriters: Nate Mendel / Dave Grohl / Taylor Hawkins / Chris Shiflett

Times like These lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management US, LLC

* * *

Since the Blades had a game that night, Coach kept practice light—mostly scrimmages and handling specific on-ice situations. Fontaine participated—team doctors had cleared him to play. For the most part, he and Chris avoided each other. But as practice ended and the players filed off the ice, Chris caught up to Fontaine. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

"Fuck off," Fontaine replied.

But Chris skated in front of him, forcing him to stop. "Hold up. I want to apologize for Sunday night. I was out of line."

"You think?"

Chris took a deep breath. "Yeah. And I'm sorry, man. What I did was wrong."

"Whatever." He skated away, clipping Chris' shoulder with his own. As he watched him, Chris realized this was one mistake for which he may never be able to atone—at least not in Le Rat's eyes.

* * *

Allie decided to watch some of Chris' game. She was beginning to appreciate certain aspects of the sport, despite the fighting. Of course, she'd prefer it wasn't a part of the game, but then, maybe Chris wouldn't be able to do something he loved and get paid for it. And he'd proven to her again and again that he wasn't a mindless thug who would pound away on someone weaker or who couldn't defend themselves.

By the time she finished a few chores and settled down to tune in, the third period was about half over; the Blades were ahead 2-1. Now that she knew Evan and Chris were good friends, and she would meet him Saturday, she focused on him during his shift. He really was a fast and fluid skater. When he weaved around the ice, avoiding checks and handling the puck like it was attached to his stick with a string, she understood the grace and beauty of ice hockey. So, while it would never be ice dancing, it could be a truly beautiful thing to watch.

The final score was 3-1. Allie wondered why the goalie for the other team had skated off the ice leaving their net unprotected with only a minute left in the game. Of course the Blades scored. The announcer said something about "pulling the goalie," but Allie wasn't sure why a team would do that. She'd have to ask Chris—or Cora—about it. As the players congratulated each other, she saw Chris say something to their goalie then tap the top of his helmet. Evan did the same before he and Chris skated off the ice yapping away—well, Evan seemed to be doing most of the talking while Chris nodded occasionally. It dawned on her that while she was watching, he hadn't played. She thought back to what he'd said about being mediocre. Maybe in close games, guys like him didn't play at the end?

Later that night, as they talked on the phone, he explained that in a game like tonight's, one strategy was to take the goalie out and put in an extra offensive player. It bettered the odds that the losing team might score and tie the game. "I get that. I guess. Seems like a long shot, though," Allie said.

"Yeah, but sometimes it pays off. It doesn't matter if you lose 2-1 or 3-1. But if you score, then you tie the game, get a point in the standings, and go into overtime. And maybe you end up winning."

"OK. That makes sense. Glad you guys won! I only watched the last 10 minutes but you didn't play. Is that because it was a close game?"

"Yeah." After a brief pause, he continued, "Hey, do you want a Christmas tree?"

Allie thought he changed the subject a little too quickly, but she dismissed it as just her imagination. "I haven't had one since my parents died. I felt like there really wasn't much point, you know?"

"It's my turn to get one for me and Evan and I was thinking—maybe you and I could go down to Wells or Kennebunkport on Friday, kind of make a day of it. It'd be nice to do something and not worry about anything or _anyone_ else, eh. But I understand if you don't want to."

"No, I . . . I do want a tree, Chris." Her voice shook a little but she continued, "It might be a good time to start a new tradition. And . . . I'd like you with me when I take out the ornaments. Some of them are from when I was little. My dad and I always went together to pick out a tree. Even when I was away at college, he'd wait until I got home . . . " she broke off as memory assaulted her.

"Allie, if it's too hard—"

"No," she said more firmly, "I'm fine. Sometimes, it just hits me again."

"You're sure?"

"I am."

Chris would pick her up Friday morning; they'd buy her a pair of skates then drive south to Wells.

* * *

Overnight into Thursday morning, it snowed. Allie looked out her window; at least five inches had fallen. It stopped around 11:00 and she headed outside. Everything sparkled. Silence filled the crisp air. She breathed deeply, smiled then started shoveling. Most of the neighbors had left for work early in the morning, but a few who'd stayed home ventured out to begin their own cleanup. They smiled and waved. A snowfall this close to the holidays seemed to put most people in an upbeat mood.

She finished her walkway and sidewalk and was about to start on the narrow driveway when Chris pulled up in his truck. Leaning on her shovel, she waited for him to reach her. "Hey, Allie. Getting your workout this morning, eh?" His arms wrapped around her. The kiss they shared in the cold air warmed her from the inside out. "I came right over after practice. Thought you might need some help."

"Thanks."

"You have another shovel?"

"In the back by the steps." She watched him wade through the snow, leaving long trails in his wake.

"I'll start back here," he said, gesturing to the driveway.

She nodded, but before getting back to her task, she simply stood and admired the view of Chris as he worked. Faded jeans stretched across muscular thighs. He wore a grey, hooded sweatshirt under a fleece-lined denim "trucker jacket" and a pair of black fingerless leather gloves. A knitted grey cap covered his head; strands of black hair hung down against his cheek and neck. A small smile crept across her face as she returned to shoveling. After about a half hour, Chris had finished almost two-thirds of the driveway. Allie was beginning to feel fatigued and had only gotten a small portion done. "You've been out a while," he said as he touched her pinked cheek with a cold fingertip. "Why don't you go in and get warm? I'll finish up."

"You want some hot chocolate when you're done?"

"Sounds good." He kissed her once again, his tongue playing along her cold lips. She opened her mouth, dropped the shovel and reached up to grasp his shoulders. The frigid air made the embrace of their warm mouths and tongues even more sensual than usual.

When they parted she whispered, "Don't take too long," before slipping out of his hold.

Allie changed into black leggings, an oversized heather grey sweatshirt printed with tiny polar bears, and woolly grey slouch socks. She puttered around the kitchen preparing hot chocolate with milk and real cocoa. Except for Cora, she'd rarely had people at her house after her parents died. Stephen had made that almost impossible. But Chris had broken through that barrier, helped her feel safe again in her own home. An unexpected domestic feeling crept over her. Even though Chris had stayed with her overnight and she'd cooked a few meals, this somehow seemed different. She wasn't sure why and it scared her a little.

As she heated milk on the stove, she looked out her kitchen window and watched him work. He really was quite a specimen. She shook her head. "Don't be so shallow," she chided herself. Still, she couldn't help appreciating his physicality. At that moment, he looked up and caught her staring; that perfect, dimpled smile of his grew a mile wide. She hoped he couldn't see the blush that stole across her face.

A few minutes later, she heard him stamping his feet outside the back door. When he came in, he chucked off his boots. Pointing to the boot tray by the door, she said, "Just leave them in there." His gloves and hat joined the pile; he hung his coat on a nearby hook. When he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, the t-shirt he wore underneath lifted, exposing a swath of the smooth, cinnamon skin of his back. Allie's eyes roved over him as he added the sweatshirt to the hook next to his coat. He padded to the sink to wash his hands. The short-sleeved grey shirt he had on looked like the one he'd worn the first time she met him when he'd picked up Sweet Jess. She watched the tiny movements of the chiseled muscles of his arms and the tattoo around his left bicep, watched those biceps expand when he reached up to smooth his hair back. Allie rolled her eyes at herself and got back to the business of making hot chocolate. She poured the steaming milk into two mugs, stirred, added sugar then topped them off with powdered cinnamon. Which made her think of Chris' skin, again. What was wrong with her that she seemed unable to take her mind off his body? She handed him a mug.

He took a sip. "Perfect," he said then leaned down to kiss her. "Mmm. You taste perfect, too."

"I didn't even drink any yet," she stated.

"I know," he replied. He kissed her again, deeper—tongue searching, teeth nibbling. Allie responded, rising onto her toes. Her hands drifted across his torso, beneath his shirt and up his back—his smooth, warm back. His mug found its way onto the counter and he held her hips. Toying with the hem of her sweatshirt, his fingers slipped underneath and probed until he found a patch of bare skin between the waist of her leggings and the edge of her tank top. She wasn't certain who uttered the quiet groan when he lifted her onto the counter. She clamped her knees to his hips; he cupped her backside. Their hands continued to roam. They tasted. Tongues delved, danced until they were both moaning softly and clinging to one another. "Damn, Allie. I want you."

"I want you, too, Chris. You make me feel things I haven't felt before." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, lowered his head to her shoulder and nibbled the skin of her neck. She squeezed him around his waist. "Do you really have to go home for your nap? Can you sleep here?"

"I could," he dragged out, "but I'm not sure I'd get much sleep."

His breath against her neck tingled. "No. I don't think you would," she replied.

He leaned back to see her face. A flush spread across her cheeks and she looked down. He tilted her chin up. "Allie?"

"I don't want to distract you before your game."

"Too late."

She grinned. Her blush deepening, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you want some lunch?" she asked.

He laughed. "No, thanks. And don't change the subject."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Again, he took her face in his hands and lifted her head so she couldn't hide her expression.

"I know I'm the reason your routine is messed up. I don't want to make things worse for you. This is your livelihood we're talking about."

"Ah, sweetheart. It's all good, eh. My 'livelihood,' as you put it, is fine." He paused. As much as he wanted to make love with Allie, he also wanted their first time to be special. Not rushed. He wanted to take his sweet time with this sweet woman. He wanted her to know just how important she'd become to him. "C'mere," he murmured and once again pulled her to him. "It's rare for me not to have any games on a Saturday or Sunday, eh. That means we've got the whole weekend to do whatever we want whenever we want. You OK if I stick to my regular routine today? Even though it will probably kill me."

"Mmmmm hmmm," Allie hummed.

"You sure?"

"I am. But are you?" She snickered and burrowed deeper into him.

"Not really but I'm _trying_ to do the responsible thing, here," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. The fingers of one hand sifted through her hair while his other hand enfolded her lower back. They stayed like that—silent, still within the circle of one another's arms. After a few more moments, she leaned back and reached for her mug; the hot chocolate was more like "lukewarm chocolate" but she didn't mind.

A sense of serenity had settled deep within both of them. They were OK-comfortable with what could have been an awkward scene. Neither of them felt the pressure that can sometimes plague a relationship still in its budding stages. What they'd experienced together and learned about one another had forced them into an unexpected intimacy fairly quickly. And for them both, this was the first time they'd felt so content, so peaceful in the presence of someone other than immediate family.

"I was thinking," Allie ventured, "if Cora and Nathaniel are around, maybe we can have them here for dinner tomorrow. But if Cora's working, it'll have to be an early dinner."

"That sounds good. I only have one question."

"What's that?"

"Do you have a nasty apron she can wear?"

* * *

Later that night, Allie ate a light meal and fully intended to watch Chris' game. But something kept buzzing in the back of her mind like a persistent fly. She found herself standing in front of the attic door. As if it had a mind of its own, her hand reached out, backed off, then reached out again and finally gripped the wooden knob. She twisted but it didn't budge. The damn thing had always been tricky; she was a little disconcerted to discover that she needed both hands to turn it just as she had as a child. When she pressed the old push-button switch on the wall to her right, weak light illuminated the stairwell.

Slowly, she ascended. There was almost 30 years worth of stuff her parents had accumulated while they lived in the house, and Allie hadn't had the heart or the courage to go through it all yet. She gazed around and quickly spotted what she was looking for-she was the one who'd put it there after her parents died. It wasn't a large box, but it contained a large part of her past.

In the living room, Allie set the box on the coffee table, slit the tape stretched across the top and folded the flaps back. With slightly trembling fingers, she tugged away white tissue paper and exposed an assortment of framed photos. One-by-one, she lifted them from their cushioned bed and stood them atop the table: her parents' wedding picture; her first birthday—yanking off a "Happy Birthday" headband her mother had fitted onto her head; her first day of kindergarten, a Maisy backpack slung over her shoulders; her parents' 25th wedding anniversary; her "official" high school graduation photo.

She picked up the anniversary picture and traced the faces of her parents. They hadn't wanted a big party. Instead, they'd rented a cabin in Vermont for a long weekend—just the two of them. They stood arm-in-arm outside the cabin, the leaves of the trees brilliant with early October colors. She had her mother's blonde hair and straight nose, and her father's almond shaped, dark grey eyes-his crinkled at the corners with mirth. Allie had been in her first semester at college; it was a copy of this photo she'd taken to school with her after winter break.

A few tears slid from her eyes. She swiped at them, determined not to allow the memories to assault her but instead, let them ease over her like a soothing balm. A small smile etched itself across her face as she placed the photos around the house. The wedding picture and the graduation shot had hung in the living room; the hooks were still in the wall. The two of her as a baby and a kindergartner had stood on the desk in the dining room. The 25th anniversary photo had hung on the wall above.

Allie stood a moment to assess how she was feeling. There was sadness, an emptiness which she thought would never be completely filled. But she also felt a small spark of something deep inside, something that whispered of life and love and hope; perhaps even a bit of excitement at the possibilities the future might bring. And she thought Chris was a big part of that wonder and hope and excitement.

By the time she remembered the game, it was over. "Damn," she muttered. But as she looked at the photos displayed around her house once again, she realized, for the first time in a very long time, sadness was not the overarching emotion coursing through her.

* * *

The recent snowfall created a fairy tale world of snow-covered pine trees and farm buildings on the Bragdon Tree Farm in Wells. After they'd bought a second-hand pair of ice skates for Allie, they'd headed south. But instead of staying on I-95 for the entire trip, even though it was the fastest route, they veered off onto a few side roads to take in some scenery. Now, as they walked among the trees, Allie couldn't help thinking back to her "tree hunting" trips with her father. She felt a slight pang but when she looked up at the man strolling beside her, holding her hand in his, that pang turned into a sense of newness—almost a reawakening.

As if he could sense her feelings, he looked down at her, grinned and squeezed her hand. "How're you doing?"

"Good. Really good," she replied and smiled.

They tramped among all sizes and shapes of trees looking for two—one for her and one for him. He'd told her he and Evan had been taking turns over the past few years to get a tree—really, ever since Evan started dating Jackie. "What do you mean you guys never get a Christmas tree? That's going to change right now!" she'd declared. The law had been laid down and neither Evan nor Chris would ever consider breaking it!

After about a half hour, they found a five and a half foot spruce tree for him. Nearby stood a six foot Douglas fir that Chris said would look great in her living room since she had high ceilings.

"Hold the trunk while I saw?" Chris asked. Allied nodded. "Wait, let me see if I can get some of the snow off it," Chris said. He laid the handsaw he carried by the base of the tree. Gently, he tapped the branches; most of the snow fell to the ground but some sailed up and smacked him in the face. "Ugh!" he exclaimed and turned away. Allie held a gloved hand to her mouth, trying not to laugh. Lashes sparkling with tiny crystals and cheeks shining like early morning dew, he said, "Aw, go ahead and laugh, eh!" And she did. She wasn't prepared for the soft snowball that landed against her shoulder and sprayed snow onto the side of her face.

"Hey!" she protested.

"Oh, sorry, sweetheart. Did some snow land on you?" Chris asked with wide, innocent eyes.

She stood with her mouth open. "You scoundrel!" she cried, and without another thought, she bent, scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at him. Most of it broke up into a powdered shower that sprinkled his face.

"Me and Han Solo!" he laughed. "You're in trouble, now!" And before she knew what was happening, he'd wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. They tumbled to the ground, him on the bottom, her landing on his chest with a whoosh of air. Their legs tangled and her hands grasped his shoulders; she could feel the solidness and warmth of his body beneath her, even through their layers of clothing. She knew a brief moment of panic but his laughter forced her to look down at him.

"You," she said as she tried to push off him, "are a nut."

"Nah. Just a scoundrel who wants you to be as wet and snow-covered as I am, eh," he replied, not allowing her to break free.

She pushed against his broad chest. "Chris, it's cold down here. We'll freeze."

"Yeah," he said grinning without letting her go. "Or we could stay here and make snow angels."

She laughed and tried to brace her knee on the ground to shove herself up. Chris yelped and immediately released her. She hopped off him. He shifted onto his side, drew his knees up, and folded his arms across his thighs. "That wasn't the ground you stuck your knee into," he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, my God! Did I hurt you? I'm sorry!" Eyes wide, her hand flew to her mouth once again, but this time, with fear instead of mirth.

He sat up, long legs splayed out in front of him. People passing by looked at him curiously. "Next time we go out looking for a tree," he said, squinting up at her, "remind me to wear my cup."

Allie, face red, said again, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"If that's all it takes to knock me on my ass then I better give up being an enforcer and pass the mantle to someone younger and stronger." He shot up off the ground. Unconsciously, she stepped back, hand still pressed to her mouth. "Hey, Allie. It's OK, sweetheart. I'm fine, eh. Remember, I'm a tough SOB." He thumped his chest before reaching out for her. Slowly, her hand fell to her side. She gazed up at his eyes, trying to judge just how furious he might be, but there was no anger, only amusement and maybe a touch of concern. With a knuckle, he grazed her cheek then slid his hand around to the back of her neck. He was wearing the same gloves he'd worn the day before; the chilled tips of his fingers sent a little trill of excitement through her. "Come here," he said and pulled her against him. He never failed to reassure her anytime doubt invaded her mind. She sighed and gripped him around the waist, squeezed. "Ah. Now that feels good. Maybe you can make all of me feel better later," he murmured, a wicked note in his voice. She pulled back to look up at him. His smirk was irresistible and she couldn't help but smile back. "What do you say we try cutting this tree down one more time?" he asked.

* * *

Chris stood in his socks, holding the tree up off the floor so it wouldn't stain the area rug in Allie's living room while she searched the closet in the foyer for the tree stand she swore was in there. "Got it!" she yelled from the depths of the closet.

"Excellent. I think my arm is about to fall off. If I can't shoot next week—and you never know when I'll get that scoring touch—I'm blaming you!" Allie emerged brandishing the tree stand and laughing.

"Nice," she said after they'd fit the tree into the stand and set it in a corner of the living room flanked by windows. As they stood admiring it, the tree seemed to tilt. Suddenly, the stand skidded on the hardwood floor and the whole thing fell towards them.

"Holy shit!" Chris yelled as he dove to catch it. Allie stumbled backwards, landing on her butt. Chris caught the tree just before it hit the floor. Pine needles scattered everywhere, but the tree was still intact. He hauled it upright.

"The trunk has a funny angle to it," Allie said—she had a good vantage point from the floor.

"You OK?"

"Yeah. You?"

"No worries," he grinned.

They reset the tree in the stand. After a 10 minute struggle, it seemed to finally want to stay upright. Once again, they stood back to observe the results of their efforts. Chris glanced around the living room, "I think it's safe, now," he said in a stage whisper.

"I hope so," she whispered back. "You have some pine needles stuck in your hair." She sifted her fingers through the silky, midnight strands.

"You, too," he replied and ran his own fingers through her hair. They stared at one another before he lowered his head and nibbled her lips. He always tasted so good, she thought as her tongue searched inside his mouth. His hands trailed down the long-sleeved purple shirt she wore and rested at her hips, fingers playing a little tattoo along her waist.

When they came up for air, she leaned her forehead against his chin and looked down at the floor. "Damn and damn. I have to vacuum again before Cora and Nathaniel come over. Well, at least there wasn't any water in the stand."

"I'll do it. You start on the salad."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"You know," she murmured as she pulled back and looked up at him through half closed eyes, "there aren't many things sexier than a man doing housework."

Chris growled low in his throat then asked in a rush, "Where's your vacuum cleaner? I'll get right to it. What else do you need done around here? Dusting? Bathrooms cleaned? Laundry done? Windows washed?"

Allie laughed. "If you get the pine needles up you'll be my hero. They're a big enough pain to vacuum as it is. Then maybe you can help me with the salad," she suggested.

"Whatever you need, babe!"

Because Cora had to be at work by 7:00, Allie planned an early dinner. She'd defrosted a big container of stew she'd made a few weeks ago. Cora and Nathaniel would be over in about a half hour at 4:30. Since setting up the tree had taken longer than expected, they decided to hold off on decorating it. After Chris finished vacuuming, he joined Allie in the kitchen. The two of them worked side-by-side chopping vegetables. A bottle of red wine had been opened and was set aside to breathe. The stew was heating on the stove and they had the perfect apron for Cora. Allie experienced that same domestic feeling she had yesterday, but this time, it didn't frighten her.

* * *

"Hey, no fair," Cora protested, "none of you got sick. And, Mr. Tobias, may I remind you that you helped me concoct that amazing dinner!"

Allie and Nathaniel stood on one side of Allie's kitchen peninsula laughing. On the other side, Chris held up a pink, frilly apron, ruffles around the edges—like something Lucy might have worn in "The I Love Lucy Show." Printed across the front in black script: "Last time I cooked, hardly anyone got sick."

"But you made the sauce ahead of time. That could have been dangerous," Chris replied.

"Cora, it's only fair," Nathaniel chimed in.

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side!"

Placing his wine glass on the counter, he strolled around and took the apron from Chris. Standing behind Cora, he slipped it over her head, pushed her hair aside, kissed her nape then tied the apron strings around her waist. "I am," he whispered, "and you're still stunning to me, love, even wearing this apron." His arms wrapped around her and she leaned back against him.

Smiling, Allie said, "Actually, Cora, you don't have to do any cooking. It's all done. Chris just wanted you to wear the apron for a little while. Paybacks are hell."

"And revenge is sweet," Chris added as he went around to the other side of the counter to join Allie. He slipped a hand about her waist, tugged her towards him. Her arm slid around him and her head tilted against his shoulder.

"How long do I have to wear this?"

"Only until dinner's ready. You don't have to wear it at the table," Chris replied, grinning.

Cora rolled her eyes but couldn't contain her laughter.

"Speaking of revenge," Nathaniel said to Chris at one point when Allie and Cora were deep in conversation. "What happened with Fontaine?" When Chris looked at him in surprise, Nathaniel stated, "Scouts' grapevine."

Chris glanced over at Allie and said in a low voice, "Can we talk later?" Nathaniel nodded and dropped the subject.

Dinner was a relaxed, easy affair. As Allie looked around, she couldn't help but feel a distinct sense of contentment. Mixed in was a bit of trepidation about what the future might hold once Stephen was in town again. Unless his father's health caused him to make some major life changes, she had no doubt he would be back. But she would not think of that now—she wanted to enjoy this moment surrounded by people important to her. People she cared about. People she loved. She took a big gulp of wine to calm the sudden burst of anxiety that shot through her at the thought that she might be falling in love with Chris. A coughing fit came next and wine bubbled out of her mouth and into her plate.

"Allie! Sweetheart! You alright?" Chris asked as he jumped up from his chair.

Just as he was about to smack her back, Cora yelled, "Don't hit her on the back!" Chris' hand froze in mid-air. Cora rounded the table and knelt by Allie's chair. "Can you breathe? Are you choking?"

After another cough or two Allie shook her head. "I'm OK," she rasped and cleared her throat. Her face turned all kinds of red as she looked around at them all. "I can't believe I just did that. At least the table cloth isn't white." A few drops of red wine had splattered around her plate. "I didn't nail any of you, did I?"

They all laughed. "No, baby." Chris' fingers massaged the back of her neck. Allie wiped her mouth with a napkin and assured everyone she was OK.

After dinner, as Cora and Nathaniel were leaving, Cora hugged Allie and whispered, "You look relaxed. Happy. And you got a tree this year! Seems like you're doing well—despite nearly choking on your wine!"

Allie laughed. "Yeah. I'm doing OK."

* * *

Chris and Allie cleaned up the remnants of dinner—he happily loaded the dishwasher while she wiped down the table. When she came back into the kitchen to rinse the washrag, he bumped her hip with his, flexed a bicep near her face. "Is this sexy enough for you?" he grinned.

"No. You should be doing it shirtless," she replied, snickering.

"Well, that can be arranged," he said as he began unbuttoning the white and black checked flannel shirt he wore and swishing his hips side to side like a male stripper. He let the shirt fall down his back and held the edges, sliding it left to right behind him. Allie could see the musculature of his chest ripple beneath his black t-shirt. He sidled up to her with a smoldering gaze and enveloped her in his arms, the shirt wrapping around them both, and pulled her hips against his. Her hands skated up to his shoulders. The intensity of his gaze pinned her as she stared up into his dark, sultry eyes. When he wiggled his eyebrows and grinned, she burst into laughter. "I love to hear you laugh. A beautiful sound from a beautiful woman," he said.

She sighed and looped her arms around his neck, snuggled into his warmth and strength and comfort. "You do that for me, Chris—make me happy," she murmured.

"You make _me_ happy, Allie."

"I do?"

"Yeah," he breathed and pulled her closer. They stayed enveloped within one another's arms until Allie leaned back and looked at him. "Should we get the tree ornaments?"

"Whenever you're ready."

Chris and Allie each carried a box down from the attic along with three strands of tiny white lights. She set Pandora to seasonal music and poured the remaining wine into their glasses. "Be careful with that," Chris teased, pointing to her glass. She pressed her lips together, still a little embarrassed about her choking fit earlier. "Hey." He tugged her arm, handed her glass to her and picked up his own. "To new traditions," he toasted and clinked his glass against hers.

"To new traditions," she echoed, taking a cautious sip.

After they finished stringing the lights, she knelt by the boxes labeled "ornaments." Chris squatted beside her, rested a supportive hand on her back. Slowly, she lifted the lid off one box, peered inside and swallowed hard. A colorful array of simple Christmas balls nestled amid thin foam packaging material. "My mom," Allie began, "always put the ornaments away herself. As you can see, very carefully. One time, when she was little, she dropped a box of ornaments and every single one broke. She was about 7. Her parents were very understanding but she was heartbroken." Chris kissed her hair and moved his hand to her shoulder. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Thank you for being here tonight."

"No where else I'd rather be."

One by one, they hung the Christmas balls until the box was empty. Allie reached for the second box. This held the "special ornaments," she explained to Chris. "You know, the ones you make when you're like, five, and your parents insist they should still go on the tree 15 years later?" She smiled faintly. "A few from when they were kids, too, that had special meaning for them." He nodded. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor with the box on her lap. Chris knelt behind her, gently placed his hands on her shoulders again as she lifted the lid. Her body trembled a bit beneath his fingers.

Inside the box were 10 ornaments—some obviously made by a child, others clearly older, perhaps even antiques—surrounding a star-shaped, three dimensional, tin Moravian tree topper. Allie lightly fingered the contents before lifting a pine cone by a loop of yarn twined around the top; glitter adorned the edges of each scale. "One year, my dad and I collected pine cones and decorated them—all my teachers got one. For the next few years, my mom complained about finding glitter all over the house." She handed it to Chris and without a word, he stood and hung it on the end of a branch, its decorated edges glinting in the light. And so, gradually, and mostly in silence, they hung each ornament. When only the star remained, Allie said, "My dad always put the star on last." She picked it up and turned to Chris. "Would you?" she asked, holding it out to him.

He gazed at her. "I'd be honored." Carefully, he took the star from her hands and fit it onto the highest branch. He plugged it into one of the light strings. Allie turned off all the lights except those on the tree. Tiny crescent-shaped pinpoints flitted across the room and on the ceiling above like a starlit sky. "Beautiful," he whispered. He took her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder as they admired the tree. She held on to him, so grateful he was with her this night. Another fragment of the old pain crumbled. She marveled at how he could chip away at it, and wondered if he was even aware that he was pulling her back to life.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own the rights to "Times like These" by Foo Fighters.

First, I must apologize for taking so long to post Chapter 15. I started a new job about a month or so ago (actually, the same day as BrynnaRaven!). I also had a bunch of other commitments which kept me busy. Needless to say, it took me a lot longer than I'd hoped to finish this chapter.

I said some relaxed times were in store for our troubled couple. Hope you enjoyed the fun! (Spoiler alert: more to come in Chapter 16!)

Bragdon Tree Farm is a real place. I've been to Wells, but not to the tree farm. If anyone has been there, let me know. It seems like a nice place where Allie and Chris might go.

As I mentioned in an earlier "Author's Note," the only thing sexier than a sensitive, caring man is a man doing housework! So, of course, Chris _had_ to do a few chores for Allie!

If anyone is wondering why Chris hasn't commented on the newly hung photos, keep in mind that even though the chapter has ended, the night hasn't.

To the Guest reviewer who wondered why Allie has dark grey eyes in this story when Jodhi May's eyes are brown: in the movie, her eyes were definitely not brown-they were lighter, maybe hazel. (Myrrhee described them perfectly in her stories.) They seemed to look different in different scenes. So, I gave her grey eyes, which can appear to change color depending on what the person is wearing. Plus, I claim writer's prerogative!

Special "thank you" to MohawkWoman for Cora's apron! And for her suggestions for "sexy/funny Chris" and his antics! But most especially for the idea of a special tree ornament. You never fail to help me find my way through the writing fog.

Another "thank you" to BrynnaRaven and Mohawk Woman for that discussion about coughing fits! You just never know what will inspire! Also, the night they decorate the tree, Allie is wearing the purple shirt featured in the beautiful illustration by pandacappuccino. You guys, I still cannot believe it and am so grateful for your friendship!

One more shout-out: to you "PMers" thank you for your thoughtful insights about this story. Again, it all helps with the writing process.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Scar On the Sky"

As I fall I leave a scar upon the sky  
A simple note for you I wait for your reply  
And in your answer I regain the will to try

Hover in the diving light  
We will rip the night  
Out of the arms of the sun  
One more time  
Close your eyes and we will fly  
Above the crowded sky  
And over the dumbstruck world we will run

In these hills they wash the gold and graves away  
To the valley under all of this I lay  
And there you dig me out, unearthed and saved

Hover in the diving light  
We will rip the night  
Out of the arms of the sun  
One more time  
Close your eyes and we will fly  
Above the crowded sky  
And over the dumbstruck world we will run

We can rip the night out of the arms of the sun

A blood red feather leaves a scar upon my hand  
No longer stranded like a painted bird on a fan

So hover in the diving light  
We will rip the night  
Out of the arms of the sun  
One more time  
Close your eyes and we will fly  
Above the crowded sky  
And over the dumbstruck world we will run

We can rip the night out of the arms of the sun

We can rip the night out of the arms of the sun

We can rip the night out of the arms of the sun

Songwriter: Chris Cornell

Scar on the Sky lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC (Live version from Songbook)

* * *

"Pagan Poetry"

Pedaling through  
The dark currents  
I find  
An accurate copy  
A blueprint  
Of the pleasure  
In me

A secret code carved, a secret code carved

He offers  
A handshake  
Crooked  
Five fingers  
They form a pattern  
Yet to be matched

On the surface simplicity  
But the darkest pit in me  
It's pagan poetry  
Pagan poetry

Morsecoding signals  
They pulsate and wake me up  
From my hibernating

On the surface simplicity  
But the darkest pit in me  
It's pagan poetry  
Pagan poetry

I love him, I love him  
I love him, I love him  
I love him, I love him  
I love him, I love him

This time  
I'm gonna keep it to myself

This time  
I'm gonna keep me all to myself  
And he makes me want to hand myself over

And he makes me want to hand myself over

Written by Bjork Gudmundsdottir • Copyright © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group

* * *

Gently, slowly, he kissed the top of her head; his lips moved to her temple and continued along her cheek, down her neck. He found the slits at the hem of her shirt, slid his fingers underneath to caress the soft skin of her belly where he felt her flutter beneath his fingertips. He stared down at her. The sparkle of lights from the Christmas tree reflecting in her dark grey eyes made them almost hazel. "Allie," he whispered and sighed, his breath skimming her lips, "tell me what you want."

Without hesitation, she replied, "I want, Christopher Uncas Tobias, for us to make love."

He rasped her name again and enveloped her, lifting her up to meet his mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he growled. Their lips met in a deep, exploratory kiss. Later, neither of them would remember quite how they navigated the stairs and ended up in her bedroom, except that they had.

The light from the hallway illuminated their figures with a delicate glow. As they stood by her bed, they seemed unable to stop kissing or touching. His hands roamed her arms, her back. Her fingers sifted through the thick strands of his hair, skimmed his neck, the sharp angles of his cheeks then traveled to push his flannel shirt, still unbuttoned from his earlier antics, off his shoulders and down his arms. Hampered by the bend of his elbows, he released her to yank the sleeves off. As it fell to the floor, she slid her hands beneath his t-shirt, inched it up, her palms flat against the warm skin of his torso. He lifted his arms to accommodate her. When his shirt was off, she held the ends, draped it behind the nape of his neck and drew him to her. Their mouths met in a fervent, desperate ballet of tongues and lips. Curling around her waist beneath her shirt, his fingers did their own dance along her skin. She rose onto her tiptoes and angled her mouth against his. He pulled her flush to his body and his hardness pressed into her belly.

A soft moan escaped her and she dropped his t-shirt so her hands could travel across his broad shoulders and down. She grasped his buttocks through his jeans and felt something round and flat in one of his back pockets; she slipped two fingers in and pulled out a small, square package. "Um . . . Chris?"

"Hmmm?" His lips were occupied against her neck while his hands continued their explorations.

She leaned back and pushed the hair off his face, tipped his chin up so he had to look at her. A wrapped condom shifted between her fingers. He reached behind him to check his pocket. His face coloring, he said, "You found it." She nodded. "I wasn't assuming—"

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. "I'm glad to know you're prepared." Her lips twitched.

"I don't walk around with one in my pocket all the time," he said against her finger.

His lips—soft, warm—teased even though she knew he wasn't trying to at this moment. "I didn't think you did. I mean . . . I probably would have found it before tonight, right? I just have a question. Only one?" She snickered.

He laughed, "Geez, I should have been more prepared, eh. I'll know for next time."

Her thumb slid back and forth across his full lower lip. "I'm on the pill."

"Still," he said, "if you want me to, I'll use it."

"You trying to tell me something, Mr. Tobias?"

"No, I'm clean. I swear."

She laughed outright and tossed the package aside before kissing him fiercely then sucking on his bottom lip. A low growl emanated from deep in his throat. This time, when her hands snaked down his back, she tucked her fingers beneath his underwear, curved them over his firm buttocks. He groaned into her mouth and moved his hands to cup her breasts through her shirt. One of her legs lifted and wrapped around his; he gripped her thigh and levered it up to his hip. Her body angled against his; his hands supported her back and he lowered them both to the bed. With her legs still locked around his waist, they rocked, every part of their bodies from groin to shoulder molding, lips melding. Their combined heat permeated their clothes. He tugged her shirt up; she released him only long enough so he could pull it over her head and toss it aside. His hands touched her face, sifted into her hair. When she looked at him, something inside him crumbled a little, but he didn't feel the need to pick up the scattered pieces. Those grey orbs of hers turned dark, languid, vulnerable. So much trust. He gazed back at her. A sense of responsibility, but not exactly—something wild but tender, something he couldn't put a name to—weighed on him. But it wasn't oppressive or worrisome. It felt . . . right.

When he glanced down at her bra—a lacy, purple confection that molded her breasts like a particularly beautiful glove—he rasped, "Jesus, Allie." Fingertips skimmed along the edge of the fabric and he blinked several times.

"You brought a condom; I wore what I hope is sexy underwear," she said.

"Oh, hell, yeah," he mumbled before his mouth found the column of her neck and traveled to the soft skin at the swell of her breasts. One hand slid the bra strap down her right arm, exposing a taut pink nipple. His tongue curled around it, lips gently sucked. Her sharp intake of breath and the way she clung to his arms told him she was enjoying the sensations. When her left hand plucked at her other strap, his fingers brushed hers aside and he drew the thin strap down, his mouth following, tongue toying with the newly exposed nipple. Her hands moved to his hair, grabbed a fistful as she moaned softly.

Her hips rocked, their bodies grinding together. His name bubbled from between her lips as his hands floated down and gripped her hips. The sound of her voice, low, sensual, turned him harder; he felt himself straining against his jeans. "Allie," he ground out between her breasts. He shifted to lay her on the bed and kneel between her legs. Fingers reached for the zipper of her jeans, pulled it down, released the button. "Ah, damn, Allie," he rumbled, "you're so beautiful," this as he slid her pants down, his lips trailing along each thigh. His mouth moved to her mound where he caressed her through lacy purple underwear that matched her bra.

Again, her hands tunneled through his silky hair as it brushed lightly across her skin. She arched and moaned. His tongue played along her navel while his fingers drifted, slid her underwear down her thighs; she bent one leg then the other so he could remove them. "Slowly, gently," the chant played over and over in his mind. Right at this moment, he wanted to shuck the rest of his clothes and enter her with no further preamble. But what he wanted more was to do this right, to make it good for her.

Before he could continue, she sat up, fingered the waistband of his jeans and said, "Now you." He stood next to the bed, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Allie stared at the angled lines of muscle on either side of his abdomen that disappeared beneath his clothes. He slid his jeans and underwear down. She allowed her eyes to wander over him, marveling at the beauty of his bronze, well-muscled body, his erect penis beckoning. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

"Ah, shit, Allie!" She'd surprised him. His fingers smoothed her hair before he took her face in his hands and gently eased her back. "Goddamn, Allie. I don't want to embarrass myself before we even get started, eh" he chuckled. She smiled and he shook his head, his eyes roving over her body; that scrap of lace around her breasts only ramped him up even more. The blush that stole along her pale skin amused him. Didn't she realize how beautiful and sexy and desirable she was? "Don't you know?" he asked and knelt on the bed next to her.

"Know what?"

For an answer, he sealed his lips to hers and roamed inside her mouth while his hands caressed her heated skin. They lay down together, their lips never breaking apart. When the kiss finally ended he said, "How absolutely gorgeous you are? Inside and out."

Her blush deepened and she touched his cheek. "So are you. Sometimes I still can't believe we're here together."

"Ah, sweetheart. Believe it. I want you."

"I want you, too."

Without another word, he grasped her by the hips, shifted onto his back and settled her on top of him. "You're in control, baby." Her eyes widened. "Tell me . . . show me, what you want." She sucked in a breath before falling against his chest and burying her face in his neck. Was she crying? "Allie? Honey." Gently, he held her shoulders and lifted her. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Control. I . . . it was never . . ." She could not finish as the silent tears trickled.

He sat up cradling her, held her face in his hands. With his thumbs he brushed away her tears and kissed her tenderly. "Allie, sweetheart, don't cry."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to ruin the moment."

"Aw, baby, you're not ruining anything, eh. You're just making me care even more. I want to make it good for you. Special. As special as you are." She lifted her tear filled eyes to him. Damn, that look on her face, like a lost kitten hoping someone will take her home. To prove his point, he hauled her against him and continued where they'd left off, kissing her, diving into her mouth while his hands roamed all over her soft skin. Again he laid down with her on top of him.

Grasping his shoulders, she slowly rubbed herself against him, felt his length along her opening, between the lips, against her clitoris. One of his hands inched along her body until it arrived at the sweet spot at her apex. His thumb circled, pressed. She cried out and arched into his touch. Reaching down between them, she clutched his penis and guided it into her. Together, they moved until they found the rhythm within one another. Her climax came like a streak of lightning that leaves an impression of itself in the sky just after it explodes. Seconds later, she felt his release deep inside her as he cried out her name. They stayed wrapped within one another's embrace long after their bodies ceased shuddering, long after their breathing normalized, clinging together as if hanging on to life itself.

* * *

As the winter sunrise bathed Allie's bedroom in a pale, golden glow, her eyes fluttered open. Chris' body pressed against her back, one arm tunneled under the curve of her neck, the other flung around her waist,. His warmth kept the cold at bay.

They'd made love twice during the night. His tenderness, his patience, always astounded her. It was difficult to believe that only a week had passed since he'd crashed through her front door. She felt her entire life had changed in a very short period of time.

He stirred; his legs angled into hers. She felt his penis hard against her buttocks. When she rolled her hips back, he grunted, and his arms tightened around her. A hum of satisfaction tickled her ear; his deep, mellow voice a caress across her sensitive skin. She felt his lips touch the back of her neck and one hand cup her breast. She pushed forward into that hand as her hips pushed back, felt his penis slip between her upper thighs and stroke her folds. A quiet moan escaped her. One of his knees slid between hers and lifted, opening her just enough so that he grazed her entrance. She moaned again and reached down to press his length against her, reveling in the feel of him all along her sex. Chris flipped her onto her back. Dark with desire, his eyes roamed over her face. "Please," she whispered. And he entered her. They were both so aroused that it took only a few thrusts before he came. He fingered her clitoris and her orgasm exploded around him.

He lowered his head beside her neck and kissed the top of her shoulder. "Holy fuck, Allie," he mumbled between breaths.

"Religious experience?" she chuckled.

"Almost." He lifted himself onto his forearms, eyes roving her face. "Good morning, my beautiful angel." He grinned, gap-toothed.

She smiled. "Good morning, my sweet, sexy Fox."

"How're you feeling?"

She didn't think she'd ever tire of hearing his voice, sultry with sleep and sex, in the morning. "Do you really have to ask?"

"I wouldn't want to assume anything, eh?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Need your ego stroked a little, huh? Not that you don't deserve it," she teased. "Fabulous. I feel fabulous. You?"

"Do you really have to ask?" he mimicked. She rolled her eyes. "Fucking fabulous," he said, "you're amazing."

"You sure have 'fucking' on your mind."

"Damn right I do." And he kissed her deep and long.

* * *

The Blades holiday party was starting at 4:00 so Chris and Allie enjoyed a late, leisurely breakfast. It took a little longer than usual since they kept stopping to kiss and touch and gaze into each other's eyes. Somehow, they almost always ended up grinning and giggling like two teenagers.

"Allie?" Chris stood in her dining room, surveying photos on the desk and the wall above. The two arranged on the desk were Allie as a baby, and maybe her first day of school. Those big, dark grey eyes of hers hadn't changed—except that now they didn't seem too large for her face. He reached out a finger and touched the one of her standing with a backpack hanging off her shoulders, traced her smile with a fingertip then stepped back and looked up at the one hanging on the wall—definitely a recent one of her parents, arm-in-arm outside a cabin. "Allie?" he repeated as she silently came up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, rested her head against his strong back. He covered her hands with his before slowly turning in her arms. "I didn't notice these last night. When'd you put them up?"

"Thursday night."

"Geez, how did I miss them?"

"Maybe you were a little preoccupied?" she suggested.

He grinned down at her. "True. Very true," he replied and kissed her. "But that's no excuse. Should've paid more attention. I'm glad you put them up again."

"It was time. There's two more in the living room." Holding his hand, she led him to the other photos.

"You look a lot like your mom," he stated, "but you definitely have your dad's eyes." He wrapped his arm around her and tucked her close to his side.

After a few minutes, she said, "They usually decorate the lighthouse for the holidays."

"The one you used to visit with your dad?" She nodded. "I've never seen it this time of year. It's not exactly on my way anywhere," Chris stated.

"Do you want to? See it, I mean."

He tightened his hold. "Yeah. I do."

* * *

On this cold, Saturday afternoon, Allie and Chris found themselves the only visitors at the Portland Headlight. The sky had turned a steel grey and a few stray snowflakes tumbled down. He parked his truck in the empty lot, cut the engine, and reached for her hand, "You OK?" She sat with her eyes closed, but squeezed his hand and nodded.

From the front, the structure looked like a simple, white house fronted by a porch and topped with a red roof that just happened to have a lighthouse rising behind it. Its dramatic setting on the edge of the rocky ledge of Casco Bay was best appreciated from the sides or from a boat on the bay. Craggy, rugged rocks jutted up from churning water that threatened to crash onto the land and lunge for the beacon. As they strolled the deserted path, they looked up at the majestic sight. Small white lights outlined the arches along the front porch and framed the gable in the center. Snow dusted the grounds and buildings but the walkways had been cleared even though it was off season. Due to the darkening day, the beacon's light flashed. "A white light flashing every 3.7 seconds."

"How do you know that?" Chris asked.

Allie didn't realize she'd spoken out loud. "Huh?"

"You said, 'a while light flashing every 3.7 seconds,'" Chris repeated, "how do you know?"

Allie ascended the porch steps and turned to face him. This put them eye-to-eye. "My dad," she began, "we used to play this game. He'd name a lighthouse and I had to recite its characteristic."

"Characteristic?"

"The flash pattern of the light—the color, and the time between each flash. Every light is unique so sailors can tell them apart and know where they are along the coast. Each lighthouse is painted differently for the same reason."

Chris nodded. "And you memorized all of them?"

She stepped down and took his hand, led him around to the back of the house where the tower stood. "Not all of them." She touched the curved, rough, white surface. Her eyes fluttered shut as a memory claimed her. Her father laughing as eight-year old Allie tried to bellow louder than the foghorn on a particularly foggy day. Suddenly, Stephen's fist swung towards her. She jerked back against Chris as a low, strangled cry escaped her.

"Allie, you OK?" he asked as he caught her in his arms.

"Sorry," she said.

"What is it?"

"Just a memory."

"Not a good one."

"At first it was. I was remembering a time with my dad when I tried to outshout the foghorn."

"Did you?" Chris asked, as he turned her in his arms.

"No," she smiled slightly. She glanced up at him; he watched her intently. The wind whipped short strands of her hair across her eyes and cheeks. "Sometimes, to take my mind off what Stephen was doing—" Chris' hold on her tightened and she stopped. Again, she looked up into his eyes.

"Go on," he rasped as he reached up and smoothed the hair off her face.

Her gaze fastened on the second button of his jacket, fingers twisting it round and round. She'd left her hat and gloves in the truck. Chris hauled her against him, sheltered her in his arms, rested his cheek on her head. The wind kicked up stronger.

"Sometimes, in my head, I'd recite the characteristic of every lighthouse I knew. It made me concentrate on that instead of . . . " The button snapped off in her hand. She clutched it in her fist.

If it was possible, Chris pulled her closer. The light snow turned to fat, white flakes. Neither of them moved. Finally, Chris lifted his head, gazed down into her eyes. With one finger, he touched her cheek; the bruises had lightened to a pale, yellow. He bent to her, nibbled before anchoring his lips to hers. Her response was immediate and potent as she pressed into him. He turned them so her back was pressed to the lighthouse wall. His fingers cradled her face, moved to her jacket and unzipped it. He fingered her sweater and beneath to find the thin fabric of her t-shirt, encircled her waist. Her own hands ran along his neck and slipped up into his hair. She was aware of nothing except him. Whatever had gone before fell away from her mind as she was enveloped by this dark, gentle man in her arms. Their tongues explored, searched.

Voices echoed off the rocks. Allie tore her mouth away. "Chris," she whispered between ragged breaths.

"I heard them, barely," he replied, his own voice a bit shaky. Quickly, he zipped up her jacket then circled her waist with his arm. "C'mon," he said, and led her around to the back of the lighthouse where they could watch the bay rise up to pound the rocks.

Even though Stephen had invaded her mind, she'd lost herself in Chris—again. But it had not been a frightening experience. She had welcomed it, almost thrived in it. She wondered, as always, at his effect on her; the way he could make her forget everything else. Serenity settled over her whenever he touched her, held her. Kissed her. Her mind drifted back to their night of loving and she shook her head, smiling.

* * *

As they watched the snow fall, Casco Bay as its backdrop, she leaned her head against his shoulder. He looked down at her and marveled at what they were forging together. He'd never expected to be able to share his childhood experience with anyone who would actually understand what happened. Evan would, but Chris had never told him about the incident. He'd never felt comfortable enough to divulge that aspect of his past until Allie. Until she'd opened up to him and laid herself bare. She'd given him the strength to do the same.

* * *

The rink was bustling with noise and activity. Music blared over the sound system. In a luxury box one level above the ice, two long tables were covered with a variety of sandwiches, big bowls of lobster salad, and all kinds of munchies. Several coolers were filled with beer, soda, and water. Teammates greeted Chris and he introduced Allie to each one. Most of them were drinking beer. "Want one?" Chris asked.

"Sure."

"Hey, Fox! You made it!" Evan bounded up to Chris. His sparkling dark eyes examined Allie in a frank but friendly perusal. He smiled and Allie found she liked him right off the bat. There was something pleasant and reassuring about his open features—like a friendly puppy, all springy energy and spirit. Trailing in his wake was a young woman with medium length blonde hair and green eyes no less bright and friendly.

"Evan! Jackie!" Chris exclaimed then turned to Allie. He made introductions all around.

Jackie reached out and shook Allie's hand, smiled. "So glad to finally meet the woman who's enthralled Chris."

"It's nice to meet you both. I've heard a lot about you," Allie replied and glanced up at Chris, noting the faint blush tinting his dark features.

"Oh, shit. I'm in trouble," Evan joked.

Allie laughed. "No. Good things!"

"Is 'Allie' short for Allison?" Jackie asked.

"Um . . . no. 'Alice.'"

"Oh, I love that name!" Jackie gushed, "It's kind of old fashioned-sounding, you know. Like a frontier woman or something."

Allie flinched as an urge to bolt spiked through her.

"You guys still up for decorating the tree tonight at our place after the party?" Evan asked.

Chris put his arm around Allie and looked down at her. They'd talked about these plans at breakfast and Allie had thought it would be a good way to push herself a bit more by venturing to his "home turf." She took a calming breath. These people were not going to hurt her, she reassured herself; they were Chris' friends and so far, everyone had been welcoming and upbeat, even his coach, who seemed to be a very serious man. "Sure," she said.

"You going to skate?" Jackie asked.

"Oh, yeah. Yesterday, we picked up a pair of skates for Allie," Chris replied.

"Hockey skates," Allie emphasized and rolled her eyes.

"You gonna have her try out for the team?" Evan asked, laughing.

Chris tugged her against his side. "Oh, yeah. She's got a wicked elbow. She'd be a terror in the corners!"

Allie glanced up at him and chuckled, all thoughts of Stephen vanishing from her mind.

"Did you get something to eat yet?" Jackie asked.

"This is dessert," Chris replied, holding up his beer. "Hey, look! There's Jim's dog. The one that likes to skate."

As a group, they turned to look at the ice. Sure enough, a big, golden retriever was trotting and slipping along next to an equally large hockey player. Jim's hair was as golden as his dog's and he had that look of a sturdy but laid back kind of guy.

"What do they say about dogs looking like their owners?" Jackie commented.

"Yeah. They do look alike, don't they?" Evan echoed. After a few minutes he took Jackie's hand and asked, "Ready?"

"Uh huh. See you guys out there!" And together they glided onto the ice. Allie enjoyed how they seemed to instinctively fit together like interlocking puzzle pieces. They had a kind of rhythm she'd rarely seen in any couple, with the possible exceptions of her parents, and Cora and Nathaniel.

Chris and Allie dropped their empties into a case then headed over to a bench to lace up. Allie sat. Just as Chris was about to join her, some guy strode by and knocked into his shoulder, spinning him partway around.

"Hey, Warrior, watch where the hell you're going," the guy snapped and lifted a hand to his side.

They stared at one another until Chris finally said, "Merry Christmas."

"What?"

"Merry Christmas," Chris repeated. "Happy New Year, too."

Allie felt the sudden charge in the air, felt Chris tense as he stared down this guy. A few people standing around stopped talking and just watched. Wondering what this was all about, she wrapped a hand around his forearm. Whether to reassure Chris or herself, she wasn't sure. No one moved.

Clearly confused by Chris' tactic, the guy hesitated. "Yeah. Whatever," he spat out, and walked away.

The collective sigh of relief was palpable.

"Was that something I should know about?" Allie asked.

Chris had been staring at the guy's retreating back. "No." The curt reply was delivered in a tone she'd never heard him use before. He looked at Allie. "Trust me on this one. OK?"

After a brief moment she nodded. "OK."

They donned their skates. "Ready to hit the ice?" he asked.

"It's been so long," she replied, "and I've never skated in hockey skates before. I don't know how to stop!"

"No worries, eh. I'll teach you. Besides, it'll give you an excuse to hang on to me."

"I don't need an excuse for that," she murmured.

Chris placed his hand on her shoulder, massaged it a bit then kissed the tip of her nose. "Maybe I'll pretend I can't stop so you can catch me." He winked.

"You'll probably bowl me over. But I could give you a good elbow!"

Allie found ice skating was like riding a bike; she hadn't really forgotten how to do it, although hockey skates definitely had a different feel than regular skates. As for stopping, mostly, she let herself glide into Chris. He usually caught her. At one point, he tried to spin her around as she fell into his arms; he lost his balance and they tumbled to the ice in a heap. They were laughing as he picked himself up, brushed the snow off his jeans and reached a hand out to her. She heard Evan call his name but by the time Chris noticed, someone had slammed into him and knocked him on his ass. He landed next to Allie with a "Shit." The same guy who'd bumped into him earlier skated away laughing.

"What is his problem?" Allie asked, staring after him. She felt a touch of fear skim her mind. Something about him felt familiar, and not because she'd seen him play.

"You mean besides the fact that he's an asshole?" Chris responded, rising to his knees. He turned to her. "You alright?" She looked at him and nodded.

"Hey, you guys OK?" Evan asked as he and Jackie skated over.

"Yeah," Chris grumbled. Evan offered a hand and yanked Chris up, who then pulled Allie up. They all watched the guy as he skated around the rink. A slim, petite young woman had joined him. She clung to his arm. It was obvious she wasn't a very good skater but he didn't seem to take that into consideration as he flew around the ice hauling her along.

"Fucker. We should—"

Chris cut Evan off, "Forget it, Otawindeht. It's all bullshit." He took Allie's hand and turned away.

"Chris, I need a break," Allie said trying to catch her breath as they skated around the rink hand-in-hand for what felt like the 10th time. They'd engaged in a bit of small talk but it was obvious something else was on his mind. She tugged his arm. "Chris."

He stopped. "Huh?"

"I need to sit down."

"OK." He paused a moment before continuing, "I should talk to Evan a minute, eh. Finalize our plans for tonight."

She looked up at him; there was something he wasn't telling her. Probably related to that jerk who'd knocked him down. Deciding this was not the best time to question him, she simply nodded.

He pointed to what was his team's bench during games and asked, "Want to wait there?"

"Sure." After Allie was settled, Chris skated away.

She watched Jackie glide towards her, a friendly smile on her face. "Mind if I join you?" she asked.

"No. Have a seat," Allie scooted over to make room.

"You're brave sitting here," Jackie said.

"Why?"

"Did you look at the floor?"

Allie looked down and saw several unknown stains dotting the entire length. "Oh, wow. Should I even ask?"

"Probably safer not to ponder these particular mysteries," Jackie replied grinning. "You a big hockey fan?"

"Not at all!" Allie laughed.

"Really? How did you and Chris meet?"

"He hasn't told you?"

"He's been amazingly silent on the subject."

Allie wasn't sure exactly how to take this, except to be grateful that he hadn't told his friends what had been going on with her. She related the short version of their first encounter and the subsequent times they'd met without bringing up anything related to Stephen. "How about you and Evan?"

"We met at a bar, believe it or not. It's where a lot of the guys hang out after their home games. I love hockey."

"What do you like about it?"

"I love the speed, the intensity, the hard hits. But it can be so graceful when you least expect it. I've seen Evan score some beautiful goals."

"I don't know much about hockey," Allie began, "but I've watched a few games on TV and went to one last week. I have to admit, I liked watching Evan play. He makes it look so effortless. But things can get pretty nasty, too."

"True. On and off the ice."

"Off the ice?" Allie echoed.

"Yeah. Evan told me about Chris punching Le Rat."

Allie stared at Jackie, not having the faintest idea what she was talking about and trying to hide her sudden unease. Chris had punched someone? She gathered her thoughts. "Who's Le Rat?" she asked slowly. A niggle of uneasiness poked her mind.

"That charming guy that knocked Chris over. Greg Fontaine."

"Fontaine," Allie repeated, remembering she'd noticed him at the game she'd attended; he seemed like one of the better players. "Chris punched him?"

"He didn't tell you?" Allie shook her head. Jackie's eyes widened, "Oh, shit. I probably shouldn't have said anything. I just assumed-"

"There's been a lot going on lately," she paused before continuing, "tell me what happened."

"Chris won't be pissed?"

"No."

"I don't know all the details. Evan was kind of vague. But last Sunday, after the game, Fontaine said something that really pissed off Chris. He punched him—knocked the wind out of him. Evan wouldn't tell me what Fontaine said but he did say he's rarely seen Chris that angry. Coach is making him suit up but not letting him play."

Allie sat stunned. Her eyes found Chris across the rink where he was talking to Evan. Why hadn't he told her? What had happened between him and Fontaine? Fontaine was about a head shorter than Chris. All that noble talk about not hurting someone smaller or weaker, not turning on a teammate-was it all just bullshit? She watched as he and Evan skated around the rink to where she sat with Jackie.

"Rested up enough?" Chris asked her. She nodded, not trusting that her voice wouldn't give away her churning thoughts. He reached out to her. Hesitating slightly, she took his hand.

* * *

The rest of the party continued without incident. Le Rat left early. As he stalked off, Chris watched Coach say something to him. Fontaine touched his ribs, turned and nailed Chris with his eyes; he was too far away for Chris to read them, but he had a pretty good idea what might be in that look. Allie had been fairly quiet since he'd come back after asking Evan not to say anything about last Sunday. He'd decided to tell her later tonight. With Le Rat and his crap today, he realized he could no longer keep this from her. How she might react to the incident had him worried. Despite how far they'd come in a short period of time, he knew she still fought her fears sometimes and he hated the idea that he might add to them. While he usually had his demons under control, he couldn't deny that sometimes, they reared their ugly heads.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own the music:

"Scar On the Sky" written by Chris Cornell

"Pagan Poetry" written by Bjork

For me, these two songs capture the emotions at the beginning of the chapter—"Scar on the Sky" for Chris and "Pagan Poetry" for Allie. I think the lyrics accurately describe how they feel about one another and their relationship—which has, FINALLY, moved to the next level!

A huge "thank you" to Conbird, who was kind enough to "beta read" the beginning of the chapter and offer some very much appreciated insights and thoughts about Chris and Allie's relationship and their first time having sex.

And thank you MedicineGal815 for inspiring me to finally finish the damn chapter!

Loredana, your perceptive critiques have been a huge help in making me analyze my writing more closely and carefully. Thank you! (And welcome back!)


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"Without You"

I'll grow when you grow

Let me loosen up the blindfold

I'll fly when you cry

Lift us out of this landslide

Wherever you go, whenever we part

I'll keep on healing all the scars

That we've collected from the start

I'd rather this than be without you

For every wish upon a star

That goes unanswered in the dark

There is a dream I've dreamt about you

And from afar I lie awake

Close my eyes to find I wouldn't be the same

I'll shine when you shine

Painted pictures on my mind

Sunsets on the ocean

Never once on my devotion

However you are or far that you'll fall

I'll keep on healing all the scars

That we've collected from the start

I'd rather this than be without you

For every wish upon a star

That goes unanswered in the dark

There is a dream I've dreamt about you

And from afar I lie awake

Close my eyes to find I'd never be the same

Without you, without you

Eddie Vedder

from Ukulele Songs

* * *

Allie had been remarkably quiet on the drive to Chris and Evan's house, and even as they'd decorated the tree, despite Evan's constant banter. When the last ornament was hung, Evan turned off the two lamps in the living room. They stood back to admire the small but beautiful tree adorned with tiny, colorful lights sparkling in the darkened room. Chris wrapped his arm around Allie. He felt a slight stiffening of her body but attributed it to the fact that she was out of her element—away from the relative safety of her own home and on his territory, so to speak. "Hey sweetheart, you alright?" She nodded without looking at him.

Chris thought Jackie seemed a little off balance, since they'd gotten home. He'd never seen her like this—tentative, hesitant. When Allie excused herself to use the bathroom, Jackie took Chris by the arm. "I'm sorry, Chris."

"For what?" he asked.

"I told Allie you punched Fontaine. She seemed totally surprised. You didn't tell her?"

"Shit," Chris breathed.

"I'm sorry. I just assumed you guys had talked about it."

He took a deep breath and looked at her. "It's not your fault, Jackie. I should have told her sooner."

"Why didn't you?" she ventured.

"It's complicated, eh."

"What's up with her? I mean . . . she's really nice, but . . . something is definitely going on."

It was not his story to tell, so he simply said, "She's had some tough times—her parents died in a car accident a little over a year ago and things have been a little rough since then."

Jackie nodded. "Damn. Sorry to hear that."

After Allie came back to the living room, Evan and Jackie drifted off to the kitchen. "You guys want anything to drink or munch on?" he asked.

"I'm good," Chris replied.

"No, thank you," Allie said. To Chris she murmured, "I should be getting home, anyway."

"It's only 9:00," Chris replied, "it's still early."

She strolled to the window and pulled the curtain aside. "Snow's starting to pile up out there."

"I'd like you to stay," he said as he came up behind her and reached his arms around her, "at least for a little while longer."

She edged out of his hold, plopped down on the couch and looked up at him. He could see what he thought might be expectation in her eyes. Her gaze shifted to the tree as she shoved her hands between her knees. Dropping to the floor in front of her, he squatted, resting his elbow on the couch by her bent legs. "Allie," he began, "you OK?"

She nodded without taking her eyes off the tree, "Fine."

"You nervous?"

"Should I be?" she retorted as she shifted and folded her arms across her chest.

He blinked and turned his head to stare at the tree, wondering how to broach the subject of what happened between him and Fontaine. She seemed totally unapproachable right now—like the first time he met her. Closed off. Distant. Unreachable. He sighed and decided to just put it out there, consequences be damned. Turning back to her, he mentally braced himself then said, "Jackie told me she said something to you about what happened with Fontaine."

"She did." The silence was not a comfortable one. Her words sounded clipped, her voice curt. He guessed she was not going to make this easy for him.

"What did she tell you?"

"More than you did."

What the hell could he say to that?

"Was it all talk?" she asked, finally turning her gaze to him.

"Was what all talk?"

"All the stuff you said about not going after good players. Not going after someone weaker than you. You've got, like, eight inches on that guy. And he seems like one of the good players. And . . . he's your _teammate_."

The look on her face, damn—disappointment mixed with a touch of fear. He swallowed. "No," he stated, "it wasn't all talk. But . . ." He shot up off the floor with a need to move, feel less constrained. Put some space between the two of them. He saw her flinch and reeled back a step. "Goddamn, Allie. This is why I didn't say anything. I knew it would scare the shit out of you." Her hands were again clasped between her knees, body hunched into itself—exactly what he'd wanted to avoid. He knelt in front of her, touched her arm. The murmur from the kitchen that had been background noise to Chris' ears suddenly stopped. Even though Evan was his best friend, he didn't want him privy to his conversation with Allie. His fingers moved to her denim covered thigh, skated lightly back and forth. He bowed his head, waiting. For what, he wasn't exactly sure. Exoneration? Compassion? At least she hadn't pulled away from him. She hadn't moved at all, actually—so still and . . . unforgiving.

"Hey," Evan said as he poked his head into the living room, "See you guys in the morning, OK?"

Chris turned to him. "Yeah."

"Good night," Jackie said. "It was nice meeting you, Allie."

"Nice meeting you, too."

When they heard Evan's bedroom door close, Chris turned back to Allie. Gently, he circled her wrists with his fingers, tugged them out from between her knees and turned them. He placed a kiss in the palm of each hand then looked up at her.

She stared back. Several heartbeats later, neither of them had looked away and he couldn't quite read her eyes. As he drew breath to speak, she said, "Tell me what happened with Fontaine."

He squeezed her hands briefly then let them go before sitting cross-legged on the floor. "He said some stuff after the game last Sunday."

"What 'stuff,' Chris? What could he possibly have said to get you so angry?" Her hands lay where he'd left them, motionless in her lap.

Hesitantly, he described the incident and everything that had led up to it. "When he said, 'just slap her around once in a while,' all I could see was Stephen's hands around your neck, the bruises he left on you. And how angry and helpless I felt. I just . . . I lost it." A sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes and lowered his forehead until it touched the edge of the couch. Less than a moment later he felt her fingers sift through his hair. She put her hands on his cheeks and lifted his head, forcing him to look at her. She'd bent forward, her eyes on a level with his. He wasn't sure what he saw there but he was fairly certain it wasn't fear.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why'd you lie about not playing the other night? Jackie said your coach isn't letting you play."

He sighed again. "Because I knew it would upset you. I was afraid . . ."

"Afraid?" she repeated, "Of what?"

"I was afraid it would freak you out. Make you scared of me again. I—"

She pulled away from him. "Wait. Freak me out? Seriously? You think I can't handle this?"

The edge in her voice was something new to him and it spooked him a little. "No, it's not that . . ."

"You don't trust me," she said into the void of silence that had descended between them.

"What do you mean I don't trust you?" Chris asked, incredulous. "I've told you shit about myself I haven't told anyone else. How can you say I don't trust you?" He shifted away from her, not understanding her accusation. And, he had to admit, hurt by it.

"You once said I shouldn't be afraid to say anything to you because of how you might react. I've been honest with you ever since, Chris. But you haven't been honest with me. You're doing exactly what you asked me not to do."

He rose to his feet, paced the living room with clenched fists before stopping in front of the tree, his back to Allie. His fingers opened and settled on his hips. Head bowed, he took a deep breath, rolled her allegation around in his head: he didn't trust her. Could that be true? He'd been worried about how she'd react to what he'd done, so he'd simply not told her. But he didn't think it was a lack of trust. It was his own fear of hurting her, of letting her down.

"You've told me how strong I am," Allie said, "but you don't really believe it."

He pivoted, watched her sitting calmly on the couch. She stared steadily back at him—a challenge in those clear, dark grey eyes, now the color of gathering storm clouds. He wanted to deny her accusation. This time, he broke the gaze, looked down at the floor and grimaced. "I've avoided telling you. I thought you'd be upset with me or just . . . I don't know, disappointed in me. I didn't want to let you down. Shit. I disappointed myself." His eyes returned to her face. "I've never done anything like that. Never. Even though he's an asshole, I shouldn't have hit him. I just . . . goddamn it, Allie," he threw his arms up in surrender. "I told you, I'm not a fucking superhero. I'm not perfect." He dropped his hands to his sides and stood before her, exposed, defenseless.

"Chris." She rose from the couch and padded over to him, placed her hands on his shoulders and said, "I'm not asking you to be perfect. Like you said to me, I may not always react the best way, but I _do_ trust you. I know you won't hurt me. Just give me the same respect. Let me decide for myself if I can handle something or not."

One hand reached out to touch her face, fingers smoothing her cheek, while the other encircled her waist. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His eyes searched her face.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"For what? Lying to you? Keeping this from you?"

Her eyes softened. "For caring that much. I might not be happy with how you handled the situation with Fontaine, but . . . it was because of me. And . . . I appreciate that. But I also don't want you to get in trouble because of me. Ever since we met, I feel like I've caused you nothing but trouble."

"No, Allie—"

She placed two fingers of her right hand on his lips and murmured, "Let me finish." He nodded and she slid her hand along his left cheek, her thumb smoothing the corner of his mouth. "Chris, it's true. Things haven't been easy for you since we've been together. But I think if you really didn't want to be with me, you wouldn't be. At least, I hope you don't feel some kind of weird obligation."

"I don't," he rasped.

"OK. I'm trusting that you're being honest with me about that. I'm a big girl. Maybe I haven't been acting like one but . . . I am trying . . . really hard . . . to be stronger. Braver. To stand on my own two feet."

He swallowed hard and placed his hand over hers still resting on his cheek. "Allie, I've told you so many times how brave you are. You're a survivor."

"Then treat me like you believe those words. You don't need kid gloves, Chris. If I flinch or jump, it's not the end of the world. It's just a reaction. I'm trying to handle those feelings. Sometimes it's hard, you know? But it's alright. It won't break me. Maybe it'll make me stronger."

He turned his head to kiss her palm then laced his fingers with hers. Their joined hands traveled to his waist and he placed her hand there before sliding his arms around her. He tucked her head under his chin. "OK," he whispered into her hair, "no more shielding you. But that doesn't mean I'll stop trying to protect you, defend you, especially against that fucker who hurt you. I can't change who I am or my protective instincts."

"I know. I don't want you to change. It's one of the things I—" she stopped abruptly.

"One of the things . . . what?" he echoed when she didn't continue. He leaned back to see her face.

She blinked a few times before meeting his gaze, as if she was trying to gather her thoughts. "It's one of the things I admire about you."

He felt like there was something else she'd been about to say, but he didn't push it. It had been a pretty emotional few days for her. And for him, if he was honest with himself. She was opening up more and more and last night they'd taken another step in their relationship. That was why her silence after the party had scared him. He didn't want to lose her trust or lose her because of something he did or said—or _didn't_ do or say. She'd given him permission not to fear that. He pulled her against his chest once again and just held her; her arms encircled him, hands skittering along his back before settling at his shoulder blades.

After a few moments of contented silence, the tree framing their entwined figures, he asked, "You really want to go home?" He paused a moment before intoning with a false note of peril, "I think the snow may be getting pretty deep out there. Might not be safe to drive."

He felt her grin against his neck. "I didn't bring anything for staying overnight."

"And I thought you were always prepared. Oh wait, that's me," he quipped. She laughed. "You won't need anything for tonight—"

"Except my toiletries, change of underwear . . ." her voice held a note of humor.

"Ah, hell, we can do a load of laundry if you want, eh. And I bet Jackie has stuff you could use—make up and all that."

She leaned back to look up at him. "I can deal one night without 'all that,'" she replied. A small smile crept across her face. He bent his head and fastened his lips to hers. It was like he couldn't get enough of this woman, especially when she looked up at him with those amazing eyes and that little smile that always kicked him in the gut.

* * *

Wearing one of Chris' sweatshirts with the Blades logo across the front and a pair of his drawstring sweatpants, the strings pulled tight to hold them up, Allie wandered around Chris' bedroom. It was a small room, furnished with a double bed, a night stand, a dresser, and a chair with a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt draped over it; she deposited her own clothes on the same chair. Two hockey sticks and some kind of protective gear occupied one corner. A poster of the Portland Blades hockey team was taped to the closet door.

On the dresser next to a brush and comb, sat three framed photographs. An 8x10 picture in a carved wooden frame depicted a young couple on their wedding day. The bride wore a calf length, cream colored lace dress, and a ring of flowers around her head. She had a beautiful, open and friendly face with a mass of long black hair parted on the right side; it flowed lose over her shoulders and down her back. Almond-shaped brown eyes peered out from the photo and her smile was bracketed by a faint dimple on the right. Allie could see Chris' smile and straight nose on her face. The groom, his hand wrapped around the waist of the woman beside him, was handsome in a dark, sturdy, harsh sort of way. Severely parted down the middle, his hair was twined into two braids, each draped over a shoulder and tightly wrapped with leather strips. The intense brown eyes were a bit frightening, but his overall demeanor was of someone dependable, strong, loyal. Chris had the same eyes.

The other two photos were 5x7s. One of Chris and his siblings looked fairly recent, maybe within the past two years. His brother was about an inch shorter with their mother's wide, friendly smile, dimples in both cheeks, and her warm brown eyes; like her, he had an open, welcoming face. Their sister's hair was as long as their mom's but a shade or two lighter and parted on the left; her heart-shaped smile lit up her whole face. The last picture of the five of them looked like it might have been taken on a family vacation when the kids were pretty young—at least Chris and Bella looked like they were preteens while Craig was definitely in his early teens.

She stood staring at the photos. When Chris had recounted the confrontation with Fontaine, Allie had watched his eyes. Unhidden pain and lingering anger were there in the brown depths. She understood it had been on her behalf. How many times had she wanted to strike out at Stephen? To hurt him back? But she'd never dared, until last Saturday. Her fear had always been stronger than her anger. While the fear had begun to recede, once in a while, the anger crept through like water through a hairline crack.

Truly, she understood why Chris had reacted the way he did. What surprised her was how deep his feelings seemed to run . . . for her. And for the second time in recent days, she had almost used the word "love." While doubt niggled at her mind, she could feel herself falling. But how could she be sure, not only of her own feelings, but of his—unless he verbalized it? Combined with his actions, she might be convinced. Still, she couldn't help mistrusting herself or her feelings.

Totally absorbed in her thoughts, she flinched when she felt Chris' arms encircle her waist and his lips press her neck. He loosened his hold. "Allie?"

"I didn't hear you come in." She turned in his arms and placed her hands on his shoulders. He too wore a pair of draw string sweatpants, but no shirt.

"Still snowing out," he remarked.

She nodded.

The wind kicked up and every so often the house creaked and shuddered against the wintry blasts.

"Your mother," she began, "she's beautiful. Your sister looks just like her."

"Yeah. Bella looks like my mom, but she takes after my dad." he stated as he moved her to his side so they could look at the photos on his dresser together.

"I can see both your parents in you and your brother." She pointed to the picture of the whole family. "When was this taken?"

"Craig was 15, I was 10, and Bella 8. My dad wanted us to see where he grew up, so we took about 10 days and came east. Traveled around Connecticut and upstate New York—where my dad's people were from."

"Does he miss his family or the area?"

"He only has a cousin left there and she never married. My dad says he followed his heart when he moved to Canada to be with my mom. He says never regret a decision made with your heart."

Allie involuntarily shivered.

"You cold?" Chris asked, and pulled her closer.

"No. I just . . . emotions are scary things sometimes. I don't always trust them."

He touched her cheek and turned her face towards him. It was always his eyes that arrested her—deep and so full of emotion or . . . something. Something soulful swirling in the depths. Something that frightened her and drew her at the same time. He bent his head and kissed her, lightly at first then with more intensity. When his fingers threaded through her hair, her own hands slid along his smooth, always warm, cinnamon skin. She felt his tongue and parted her lips. To better angle her mouth against his, she rocked up onto her toes. His fingers slid under the loose sweatshirt she wore and raised it until she had to lean back and lift her arms so he could pull it off her.

"Damn, Allie." He held her by the waist as his eyes roamed over the Blades logo emblazoned across the front of her black tank top. She'd almost forgotten she'd worn it. "When'd you get this?"

"Earlier this week. You said Blades regalia wasn't required for the party, but I wanted to surprise you." She turned halfway around to show him "Tobias" spelled across the back in the same lettering as his game jersey, "17" just below his name. When he didn't say anything Allie swiveled her head to see his expression. She grinned at his wide eyes and parted lips. "Chris? You don't like it?" she asked coyly.

"You're kidding, right?" He traced the number with a finger and said, "There's no Blades merch like this. Where'd you get it?"

"I went to one of those stores that customizes t-shirts and hats and stuff. I bought the tank there and had them put your name and number on the back. I wanted to surprise you."

"You did," he replied as he turned her to face him. The smile he lavished on her had to be the biggest one she'd ever seen. And was that a twinkle sparking in his eyes? Without warning, he picked her up, carried her to his bed, and gently tossed her onto it. He stared down at her and ground out, "Holy shit, Allie. You don't know what you do to me."

The bulge at the crotch of his sweatpants drew her eyes and she smiled. "I have a pretty good idea." She reached out and pulled the string that hung below his navel. As she pushed his sweatpants down, she discovered he wasn't wearing underwear. "I guess we're both full of surprises tonight," she giggled as her gaze flicked up to him. He kicked off his pants and joined her on the bed, sliding the sweatpants off her before gathering her into his arms and pulling her to him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I do not own "Without You" by Eddie Vedder.

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to post Chapter 17. I think it needs a bit more polishing but at this point, I've run out of polish so the tarnish will have to wait a bit longer! As you might have guessed, I've struggled with parts of this chapter for various reasons, so reviews are much appreciated! Thank you for your patience as I slog through, and for reading, commenting, PMing and otherwise communicating. Your thoughts and ideas about this story and your interest in Allie and Chris keep me going.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 **Daring to Love**

You will find me there among the brave ones

The ones that I can never overcome  
I want to be someone you can lay your weight upon  
Someone who saves you, someone who holds on

Daring to love  
Oh, LOVE  
And come alive  
ALIVE

I can be your heroine  
If someone lends a hand to hold my heart  
This heavy pounding sound I am carrying  
It leads me astray, it makes me fall apart

Daring to love  
Oh, LOVE  
And come alive  
ALIVE  
But most of all  
TO BE LOVED

I will fail to take the easy way out  
I will tell the truth one more time  
Even though it hurts, even though I stay in the sheets we've got on  
I will take us through the densest darkest ground

Daring to love  
Oh, LOVE  
And come alive  
ALIVE  
But most of all  
TO BE LOVED

by Ane Brun

* * *

Allie rolled over and snuggled against a big, warm body. She heard a deep throated, soft growl as two strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her to a hard chest. She cracked open one eye to see if it was morning—of course, the clock on Chris' bedside table was completely obscured by the large man who held her, her nose pressed to the base of his neck. Having given up trying to see the clock or even the window to assess the time of day, or more likely, night since the room was still shrouded in black, she mumbled, "What time is it?"

"Does it matter?" he asked in a deep, sleepy baritone that sounded even sexier inflected with sleep. Would she ever get used to waking up beside this man? He held her like a treasured gift; his gentleness always a surprise—although by now, she realized she should be accustomed to it. But she wasn't. Not yet, anyway. "Unless you have someplace to be?"

She heard the grin in his voice and angled her face up, trailing her lips along the column of his throat. He growled again before pulling her up so their lips met in a fervent kiss. As her hands ambled across his smooth skin, she was beginning to think she would never tire of him. Of his touch, his scent, his long, tapered fingers gliding effortlessly along her body, sparking in her an immediate response. She gripped his hair—relishing its thick silkiness—and wrapped strands around her fist, tugged so his head tipped back. With her vision now adjusted to the lack of light, she could see the glitter of his eyes. "Only place I have to be is right here," she murmured and sealed her lips to his.

* * *

As they lay together, the faint morning light slowly filtered into the room. Chris gazed at the woman in his arms, her upper body sprawled across his chest. She seemed to fit into his embrace perfectly—a puzzle piece he'd been searching for and finally found.

Their conversation of the previous night flowed through his mind. He felt both lighter and heavier at the same time. His understanding of her and how her mind worked had sharpened. He didn't have to watch his every move fearing he'd scare her or upset her. But that fucker could come back into her life any time and hurt her again. While the order of protection should be a deterrent, that didn't mean he wouldn't try to get to her and do some damage. Road trips worried him—he wouldn't be around to protect her. If he could somehow get to this bastard himself, maybe he could put the fear of God into him.

"It's morning," she murmured into his neck.

"Mmmm hmmmm," he agreed. "You in a hurry to leave?"

Her head popped up. She rested her chin on her arms braced across his chest, eyes roaming his face in the grey light of dawn. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. With one finger, she traced along his jaw, across his lips, and down the straight slope of his nose. "You've got a perfect nose," she said. "Never had it broken?"

"Been lucky," he replied, his hands skittering along her arms and into her hair where his fingers massaged her scalp. She tilted her head back and purred—that was the only way to describe the sound that emanated from her throat, Chris thought, as she closed her eyes and leaned into his palm.

He'd slept naked and she'd slept in just her Blades tank top. He kissed her exposed neck, appreciating its length and allure. His free hand traveled down her back to smooth her buttocks, molding and kneading then up, up her back he pushed that sexy black tank top until it nestled above her breasts. He sat up, maneuvered so his legs hung over the side of the bed, feet resting on the floor, and wrapped her legs around his hips. A moan emanated from deep within her as her opening nuzzled his aroused penis. They moved against one another, gently at first—her hips rocking just enough so that her folds parted like tiny petals, stroking his shaft with liquid heat.

Almost of their own accord, his hands roamed over her satin skin. The map of small but firm muscles across her back, her arms, her thighs. The softer parts—her breasts, her waist. He wanted to touch all of her. Kiss every contour and bend of her slender body.

She moaned again, louder this time. His mouth covered hers. Tongues entangled as his hands continued their journey across her silky skin. Her nipples peeked out from under the bunched fabric of her tank top. His fingers nudged the shirt up while his lips enfolded first one nipple, tongue sliding over the taut peak, then the other. She arched against his mouth. Her voice, husky and dark, produced sounds, and possibly words—he wasn't sure—that turned him harder. And her hands . . . damn, her hands. Fingers traveled through his hair and across his back and shoulders, over his chest, lingering briefly at his scar then along his belly and down. When he thought he could stand it no longer, he lifted his head from her breasts, watched as she shifted and fisted his penis to guide him into her. A deep rumble drifted out of him when she leaned straight back and angled her torso. But she flinched slightly and grabbed at his forearms for purchase. And so, he wrapped his arms around her and whispered, "I've got you. I won't let you fall." Immediately, he felt her body relax in his embrace and he bent his head to taste each nipple again. One hand slid around and down until his thumb caressed her sweet spot. She cried out and began to undulate. He met her thrust for thrust. When she climaxed, her head fell back and her legs tightened around him, ankles locking. Her body arched, pulling him deeper. With two final thrusts, he came. Panting and spent, they clung to one another as dawn fully blossomed into the pale light of the winter morning, made even brighter by the newly fallen snow.

* * *

About eight inches of snow had piled up overnight. After quick cups of coffee and toasted English muffins (Chris had paused in front of Allie, her plate in his hand, and said, "Elbows down." She'd rolled her eyes and laughed. "I guess I'll never live that down!") and a promise from Allie and Jackie to come out and help after the guys got a head start with the shoveling, Evan and Chris headed outside.

Allie picked up the empties and brought them to the dishwasher. "I'm so glad we finally got to meet," Jackie said, still sitting at the table sipping her coffee.

"Me, too. Chris talked about you guys a lot so it was nice to finally meet you both."

"I don't mean this the way it's going to sound, but Chris never talked about you . . . at least not to me. You were the 'mystery woman.' I admit I was super curious about you."

Something in her tone made Allie pause while loading the dishwasher. She glanced at Jackie then continued with her task.

"Chris told me your parents died about a year ago. I'm so sorry."

Having set the last cup in the dish rack, Allie closed the dishwasher door and picked up her own cup from the table. She turned away from Jackie and busied herself pouring more coffee into her half filled mug. "Thank you," she finally replied.

"Was it . . . unexpected?"

Unsure where this was going, but determined to hold herself together, Allie took a deep breath and turned to face Jackie, whose lovely green eyes radiated curiosity mixed with compassion. She could do this. She could talk about the sudden loss of her parents with a new friend. Yes, "friend." Allie had a strong feeling she could become friends with this woman. "Car accident." She sat at the table in a chair opposite Jackie.

"Oh, damn. I'm really sorry. Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked as she plunked an elbow on the table, propped her chin in her hand.

"No." Allie's fingers toyed with her mug, turning it round and round on the table top.

"And damn, again. How'd you do it? I mean—"

"I had a few friends who were really supportive," Allie interjected, but offered nothing more.

After a brief pause, Jackie said, "Listen, I'm really sorry I told you about what happened between Chris and Le Rat. I just assumed you guys had talked about it. I didn't mean to spring it on you like that."

Allie looked up at her. "It's OK. I . . . we talked it out last night."

"He's a great guy, Allie. He's not like a lot of these guys who are just selfish jerks. I love hockey but, you know, sometimes jocks can be total assholes. Believe me—that bar I told you about where they hang out after games? Shit, some of their antics make me blush, especially where women are concerned. Chris and Evan, though, they're different. I'm not sure why—maybe the way they were raised. Good, strong mothers and supportive fathers. Who knows? But they are gems."

"You're right. It took me awhile to figure that out. Chris has been nothing but patient and sweet. But he's tough, too. It's a weird combination. I'm not used to someone who can be so gentle and so brutal."

"And he doesn't usually lose his cool. That's why he's such a good enforcer—he can fight without letting his emotions take over. At least, I've never seen him really pissed off, you know? Evan said he just lost it last Sunday."

Allie closed her eyes, trying to decide how much to tell her about the circumstances that sparked Chris' reaction. Realization nudged her—being able to talk about her life before Chris might help the healing. She took another deep breath. "I was involved in an abusive relationship," she began. "I'd broken up with him before I met Chris." Jackie reached out and touched the hand that had been toying with the mug. Allie's hands stilled and she looked up. "It happened when my parents died." Jackie held her gaze, squeezed her hand briefly before letting go, and nodded for Allie to continue.

When Allie finished the "abridged version," ending with the incident in the locker room, Jackie leaned back and said, "Well, that explains it. Makes complete sense. He's very protective."

"Yeah, I'm figuring that out. I know it's a big part of who he is. And while I'm not trying to be a 'damsel in distress,' I'm not going to lie either. I feel safer when I'm with him."

"Of course! He can take care of himself and anyone else. Evan's strong and tough, too, but honestly, Chris could kick his butt." She winked and they laughed.

"But he seems like a great guy, Jackie."

"Oh, he is! I love the goofball, believe me. And Chris . . . he really cares about you, it's very obvious."

"I care about him, too, but . . . I'm a little gun-shy, you know? I don't want to just . . . I don't know, fool myself just because he's the first guy I've been attracted to since I broke up with Stephen."

"I understand. You don't want to make the same mistake. But I can tell you, Chris is not like that." Jackie paused before continuing, "And you don't want this to be a rebound. Am I right?"

Allie looked up at her, startled that Jackie seemed to understand her feelings so well. She closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes," she whispered, "I feel like I've got a good thing and I don't want to lose it . . . lose him because of my own insecurities."

"Oh, girl, I don't think you will. From what I know of him, he's got the patience of Job!" They laughed.

High pitched laughter from outside filtered into the kitchen. The two of them hurried to the window. Evan, and Natalie's twin boys were rolling snow into a large ball in the front yard of Natalie's house. Beside them, Chris, Natalie, and Sweet Jess were rolling a smaller ball. Clearly, snowman-building was in the works. When Sweet Jess wandered near Chris, he scooped her into his arms, and tossed her up into the air. The laughter turned into a screech. Her little arms wrapped around his neck as he caught her.

"They are having way too much fun," Jackie said. "Should we go out and help them?"

"Definitely," Allie replied.

As they prepared to go out into the aftermath of the storm, Allie smiled to herself in wonder at yet another positive thing that had come into her life since she'd met Chris—Jackie and Evan—two new friends after more than a year of isolation and loneliness, with only Cora as her lifeline. Now, she felt like she had an entire lifeboat full of support.

* * *

Allie screamed as Chris flung his arms around her waist and they tumbled into the soft blanket of snow on the ground. He landed on top of her and her screams turned to laughter as snowballs pummeled his back. "Ugh! Alright! You win. UNCLE!" he yelled. They heard whoops and cheers from Jackie and Evan. "Damn. They kicked our butts, Allie!" he said.

Her gloved hands reached up to his cheeks and her smile widened. "We put up a good fight, though." She leaned up and kissed him fiercely.

"If this is the spoils of losing, I'll happily lose every time," he murmured and returned her kiss.

Natalie and her kids had gone in after the snowman had been built and driveways and walkways had been shoveled. A wicked snowball fight then ensued—Allie and Chris verses Evan and Jackie. Their front yard was a mess of disrupted snow, like twisted sheets on a bed after a particularly active session of lovemaking.

"C'mon, losers! No frolicking in the snow allowed!" Evan chortled as he grabbed Chris' jacket and lifted him off Allie. Chris' body was like a ragdoll, all loose limbs and flailing arms.

"OK. OK! I'm up!" Chris yelled, laughing as he staggered to catch his balance.

Evan slapped him on the back then offered his hand to Allie. She leaned back on her elbows. "Can I trust you?" she asked, grinning.

Looking steadily at her, all humor gone from his expression, he replied, "Absolutely."

Her grin faded as she raised her hand to his. When he lifted her to her feet she stared back at him. "Thank you," she whispered.

* * *

Once back in the house, they tossed off their jackets and boots. Jackie and Allie plopped down on the couch in the living room while the guys sat on the floor in front of them. Mugs of freshly brewed coffee in their hands. They were laughing at something silly Evan had said when Jackie's phone beeped. She reached over and lifted it from the table next to the sofa. "Oh, shit," she said after she read what was on the screen.

"What?" Evan asked and turned fully towards her. Instead of replying, she held the phone so he could read the screen. "Shit," he echoed as he took the phone from her and handed it to Chris. "New tweet."

Chris read it. "Fuck," he breathed.

"What is going on?" Allie asked. Silently, Chris handed her the phone. A tweet from Le Rat: "Isn't anyone wondering why Tobias has been riding the pine for the past two games? Someone should start asking questions." She handed the phone back to Jackie. "Is this going to cause a problem?"

"It could," Evan replied.

"Coach has been trying to keep it inside the locker room, but I know word got out to the scouts. EA asked me about it," Chris said.

"You told him?" Allie asked.

"Not yet. We were at your place when he mentioned it and I didn't want to say anything then. Told him I'd talk to him later." Just then Chris' phone went off. He checked the number and declined the call.

"Who was it?" Allie asked him.

"Didn't recognize the number," Chris replied. When his phone rang again, he set it to "do not disturb."

Allie reached out and touched his shoulder, massaging a little. "I'm sorry," she whispered. This was her fault. She scooted around him and rose from the couch.

"Hey," he said and grabbed her hand before she had the chance to walk away. Looking up at her, he tugged her hand, "where you going?"

"I should head home," she replied and slid her hand out of his hold. She grabbed her mug and brought it to the kitchen. As she was setting it into the dishwasher, she felt Chris encircle her from behind.

"Don't run away, Allie. I told you before, this is not your fault."

She turned to face him and leaned against the sink. "How can you say that? It's because of me you hit Fontaine. What if he goes public? What will happen to you? Could you get kicked off the team? Or traded?" As she took a breath, another thought struck her, "Oh, crap. If you testify for me, that could get into the press. I couldn't live with myself if this ruined your career. All because of me." She tried to pull out of his arms but he didn't let her go. Tears began to form and she closed her eyes to check their flow.

"Stop," Chris demanded. He cupped her cheeks. "First, Le Rat deserved it. He's a prick." After a brief pause, he said, "Allie, look at me." He didn't continue until she opened her eyes and looked directly at him. "I promise you, this will not ruin my career."

"You can't promise something like that," Allie cried as the tears finally spilled over.

"I can because I won't let it." This as he pulled her against him, cradled her head in his large hand and crooned words she couldn't understand. Only his voice, deep and soft and comforting, washed over her as she buried her face against his neck.

"I'm so sorry," she whimpered.

"Shhhh. It's alright, sweetheart. We'll get through this."

"I don't want to interrupt," Evan said from the threshold of the kitchen, "but Coach is on the phone for you, Chris. The landline—said he tried to reach you on your cell." He shrugged.

Allie pulled away from Chris and pressed a fist against her mouth. "I'll be right back," Chris said to Allie. He nodded to Evan as he left the kitchen; some kind of wordless exchange seemed to pass between them.

"Hey, Allie," Evan said as he strolled over and touched her arm. "Coach is a fair guy. And he knows what a dick Le Rat is."

Jackie came into the kitchen. "You OK?" she asked Allie and put her arm around her shoulders.

Allie sniffled and wiped away her tears. "I just don't want him to get in trouble because of me."

When Chris returned to the kitchen, Jackie and Evan were flanking Allie. He stood a little uneasy, his hands hanging loose by his sides. "What happened?" Allie asked.

"Coach wants to meet with me."

"Oh, no, Chris. I—"

"Allie . . ." he cut her off but paused then took a deep breath. "He wants to know exactly what got me so pissed off at Le Rat."

"You didn't tell him?" Allie asked, incredulous.

Chris shook his head.

Oh, God. Even to help himself he hadn't revealed her secret shame. She slid out of Jackie's hold, went to Chris and placed her hand on his cheek. "You have to tell him. You have to explain what happened."

"I didn't want to do that to you."

Her eyes welled up again. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. He embraced her, smoothing his hands up and down her back. She felt a light touch on one arm and a gentle squeeze on the other. "We'll be in the living room if you need us," Jackie murmured. Allie nodded without letting go of Chris.

To calm herself, she took in gulps of air. Finally, she felt together enough to lean back and look up at him. "I got your t-shirt wet," she commented and rubbed her fingers over the spot at the top of his sleeve that had absorbed her tears. "You'll tell him?"

"Only if you're OK with it."

She nodded. "I am. You're risking so much for me, Chris. How can I _not_ be OK with it?"

"If you don't want him to know—"

Her fingers pressed against his lips. "You have to tell him. He _has_ to understand where your head was last week. I'll come with you if you want."

He caressed her cheek with gentle fingers and smiled briefly. "It's OK. Better if I'm there on my own."

"When does he want to meet you?"

"This afternoon. I'll drive you home then head over to the rink."

"You'll come back afterwards? Let me know how it goes?"

"Yeah. And hey," he pushed the hair back from her face, "I would do everything I did again. Except figure out sooner what the hell was happening to you."

"And maybe not hit Fontaine," she whispered in all seriousness.

"Yeah, that too." A tentative grin before he pulled her back against his chest.

As she buried herself in his strength and warmth once again, she wondered how, and why, she'd gotten lucky enough to have Chris come into her life.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I need to once again apologize for not getting Chapter 18 posted sooner. I can at least tell you that I've already started 19 so hopefully, that will come together quicker than the last few chapters. So, oddly, no music or lyrics for this chapter—nothing singing in my head. I'm not sure why. Maybe Aretha Franklin's death has left a silent musical hole in me right now. (If any of you "hear music" while you're reading this chapter, I'd be very curious to know what it might be—if you're willing to share.) And as always, reviews and comments are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

I added the lyrics at the beginning of this chapter to "Daring to Love." Thank you, MedicineGal815 for sharing them with me.

I do not own the rights to "Daring to Love."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 **Sense of Discovery**

One last moment, the days were closing in

The ray of light was faltering

Was no more sequels, no words could tell  
The pace of time was gathering

And you saved yourself for me  
And you lead me to a sense of discovery

Waiting for a moment that you think won't come  
Belief is no illusion but you must hold on  
The heart is like a temple, one you cannot see  
Inside these walls, discovery  
From the desert to the ocean a revolving sun  
The journey now has just begun  
The heart is like a temple, one you cannot see  
Inside these walls just you and me

So put your hand on me

One last moment, the waves were rolling in  
The ray of light was faltering

And you placed your hands on me

Waiting for a moment that you think won't come  
Belief is no illusion but you must go on  
The heart is like a temple, one you cannot see  
Inside these walls, discovery  
From the desert to the ocean a revolving sun  
The journey now has just begun  
And the heart is like a temple, one you cannot see  
Inside these walls just you and me

So put your hand on me, so I'll see  
That the rage will dissolve like the wind, endlessly

No more life cast away, so lonely  
When you led me to this sense of discovery

Put your hand on me - so I will see  
That the rage will dissolve like the wind - endlessly

Inside these walls, discovery

Waiting for a moment that you think won't come  
Belief is no illusion but you must hold on  
The heart is like a temple, one you cannot see  
Inside these walls just you and me  
From the desert to the ocean a revolving sun  
The journey now has just begun  
The heart is like a temple, one you cannot see  
Inside this, discovery

Songwriters: Charles Burchill / James Kerr / Michael Joseph Mac Neil

Sense of Discovery lyrics © BMG Rights Management (Simple Minds)

* * *

Chris had turned his phone back on after speaking with Coach and was glad he had; EA called about 15 minutes later wanting to know exactly what happened in the locker room last week.

"I wanted to hear your side of it," Nathaniel said when Chris had finished his tale.

"I was wrong, eh," he took a deep breath, "but goddamn . . . Le Rat—"

"I know," Nathaniel cut in. "And I also know what type of player you are and the kind of teammate you are. It's why I was surprised when I heard. But I figured there was something else going on. I won't volunteer any information, but if anything gets started, I can make sure they know you were seriously provoked."

"I just don't want Allie's name to get out there. This was between me and Le Rat," Chris said. Nathaniel concurred and they agreed to touch base again later.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Chris got to the arena. He'd left Allie at her house with a promise to return after his meeting. "Text me when you're done. I'll start dinner," she'd requested.

He'd nodded, kissed her and said, "Stop worrying, Allie." And hugged her fiercely.

Coach, hands folded and forearms resting on his desk, eyed Chris sitting across from him. "I appreciate you coming in today, Tobias. I know it's supposed to be a day off but I want to deal with Fontaine's tweet ASAP." He paused and spread his hands flat on the large paper calendar covering a good portion of the desk's surface. Chris could see all kinds of notations in black ink on various days. Staring at it, he realized Christmas was a week away. How had so little time passed since he'd discovered what had been going on with Allie? "And before I can do that," Coach's voice interrupted Chris' thoughts, "I need you to tell me what led up to the incident after last Sunday's game."

Chris blinked, took a breath to steady himself. Despite the fact that Allie had pled with him to tell Coach the whole story, he felt a little like he was betraying her. He shook his head to clear his mind then said, "The woman I've been seeing . . . Allie-you met her yesterday . . ." Coach nodded. "Her ex-boyfriend . . . when they were together . . . he beat her up. And . . ." Chris looked down at the floor before continuing, "Saturday night, I caught him in action."

"Christ," Coach muttered.

Chris looked up. "I played like shit on Sunday, eh. After the game, Fontaine was being an asshole. Said he heard I was having trouble with a woman. Then he said I should just smack her around and my problems would be solved. That he could vouch for it. I just . . . I'm sorry, Coach." Another deep breath. "No matter how angry I was, I shouldn't have punched him."

Without taking his eyes off Chris, Coach let out a long sigh before leaning back in his chair and folding his hands across his belly. Unsure what was going on behind the stare, Chris began to feel decidedly uncomfortable. Coach looked up at the ceiling before eyeing Chris again. "Well, at least now I know what happened. And while I don't condone what you did, I understand why you did it. I'm guessing you didn't get much sleep Saturday night, either." Chris nodded once and crinkled his nose in a brief gesture of agreement. Coach sat forward in his chair, leaned his forearms on his desk again. "Fontaine. He's not easy to deal with—as a teammate or a coach. I'm doing what I can to get him to knock off the tweets and keep this incident inside the locker room. But I can't control his every action off the ice," Coach concluded.

"I understand, Coach. And . . . you should know . . . Allie filed a 'protection from abuse' order against this guy. A hearing'll be scheduled and I plan to testify for her."

"Reporters will probably get wind of that, one way or another. But they sure as hell don't have to hear crap from your teammates. Talk to Sandy in PR. She'll help you prepare a statement for the press in case you need it."

"You're not going to try to talk me out of it?"

"Hell, no. You do what you need to do. You do what's right. But . . . keep your cool around Fontaine. No more incidents, no matter what he says or does. If anything else happens between the two of you, you'll be watching games from the press box for the rest of the season. Understand?"

"Yeah, Coach. I appreciate your support. You know I don't want to cause any bad publicity for the team." He hesitated a moment before continuing, "Can I ask you something?" Coach nodded. "You think Fontaine . . . you think he beats up his girlfriend?"

Coach sat back again, hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. "I think he's more talk than anything. Having said that, I don't know for sure. But I don't want to condemn him without proof. The Blades ownership has a policy, so if anything comes to light, we'll deal with it." He stood, hands on hips. Chris rose from his chair. "You sit out one more game, Tobias. Keep me posted about this hearing. I know it's not easy but do your best to keep your personal life off the ice and out of the locker room." He held out his right hand. "Thank you for being honest with me. If you or Allie need anything, you let me know."

Shaking his hand, Chris nodded, "Thanks, Coach."

As he left the office, Chris' phone beeped with a text. Once in his truck, he checked the message.

Nathaniel: We need to talk. You free?

Chris: Now?

Nathaniel: Soon.

Chris: Just talked to Coach. Heading to Allie's.

Nathaniel: OK if we meet there? Cora will txt her.

Chris: OK.

* * *

Allie picked up her phone when it dinged.

Chris: Just finished with Coach. Did Cora txt you?

Allie: No.

Chris: EA wants to meet at your house. You OK with that?

Allie: Yes.

Just then, another text beeped through.

Allie: Cora's txting.

Chris: OK. On my way.

Allie to Cora: What's going on?

Cora: OK if N & I come over tonight?

Allie: Yes.

Cora: Stephen is back.

Allie's grip on her phone tightened. Well, she'd known it couldn't last—this blissful time she'd shared with Chris, not having to be on guard all the time, or worry about Stephen showing up unexpectedly. She suddenly felt light headed and plopped down onto a kitchen stool. Her forehead sagged into her palm.

Cora: U OK?

She relaxed her hand and forced herself to respond: Yes.

Cora: I worked day shift today. Be there in about an hour. With dinner.

Allie: Thx.

* * *

As Chris stepped through the threshold of Allie's front door he looked at her and asked, "What happened?"

She shut and locked the door behind him. "Stephen's back."

He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head against his shoulder. "I won't let him hurt you," he crooned. She remained silent and still in his embrace, and after a few minutes he continued, "Allie. He won't hurt you. You hear me?"

She clutched his jacket and pressed into him, finding comfort in his warmth and reassurance. Finally, she nodded against his shoulder then pulled back and looked up at him. "How'd it go with your coach?"

"Let's go sit down and I'll tell you what he said," he replied and led her into the living room.

After Chris finished, she questioned, "He really said that if either of us needs anything we should ask him?"

"He did," Chris replied.

"Did he talk to Fontaine?"

"I think so, but I don't know for sure."

The doorbell rang and Allie hopped off the sofa. "Must be Cora and Nathaniel."

"Wait," Chris said and held Allie's hand. She stopped and turned to him. "Let's be sure." Allie closed her eyes and bowed her head. Of course. How could she so easily forget? As she stared at the man sitting on her sofa, at his unwavering gaze, his firm, steady grip on her hand, his solid presence, she knew the answer.

The minute Cora came through the door she hugged Allie. Nathaniel shook hands with Chris. "Thanks for having us over, Allie," Nathaniel said as he turned to her and squeezed her arm. "Dinner." He held out a Chinese take-out bag.

"Thanks," Allie said as she accepted his offering.

"Thought we could use a little of this tonight, too," Cora said, brandishing a bag that had been dangling over her shoulder—two bottles of wine.

After they'd settled at the kitchen counter, plastic containers of various Chinese dishes arranged between the four of them, wine glasses filled, Chris stated, "Allie said he's back."

Cora nodded. "One of my friends in ICU told me he's on the schedule for tomorrow."

"Damn," he said. "I'll stay here this week."

"Or she can hang at my house. At least for a few days," Cora added.

"That's a good idea, Cora," Chris said. "She can stay with you a few days, at my house a couple of days, and here, too. Throw him off so he won't know where she'll be."

"Well, hell. Why don't I just throw a slumber party and we can all stay here," Allie said. Although her voice was quiet, it caught the attention of everyone at the table and they fell silent.

Nathaniel grimaced. "Allie, what do _you_ want to do?"

"Thank you for asking, Nathaniel," she replied as she nailed Cora and Chris with her gaze. They stared back at her, twin bewildered expressions on their faces. She lowered her eyes, suddenly ashamed of her reaction. An unexpected ire had risen within her when they seemed to be making plans like she wasn't even in the room. But just as quickly, that anger turned into embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I . . . I know you all mean well. I don't mean to be a bitch. To be ungrateful for everything you've all done for me."

"Oh, honey, you're not a bitch," Cora assured her, "we just want to take care of you, protect you from that jerk."

"I know. I'm sorry," she repeated. Chris reached over and enveloped her hand in his but remained silent. She stared at him then looked to Cora and Nathaniel. "I guess I'm just nervous about how he'll react when he gets served with the order of protection."

"Of course. Totally understandable," Cora said.

"But not an excuse to talk like that to the people who've been the most supportive, the most . . ." she broke off, unable to continue. She pulled her hand out of Chris' grasp and hopped off her stool, feeling an urge to bolt.

Chris stood and held her by the shoulders. "Sweetheart. We're all here for you. We're not trying to take over your life, eh. We just want . . . we want you to be safe. That's all." When she remained silent, he continued, "I'm worried about what he might try to do, even with the order of protection. Shit, Allie . . . if he hurts you again I . . ." he closed his eyes and bent his head, mumbled something she couldn't understand.

She reached up and took his face in her hands. When he opened his eyes, they were as deep and dark and liquid as espresso, unshed tears simmering along the edges. "I'm sorry," she said again, feeling like the biggest jerk. "I know you . . ." she paused and looked over at Cora and Nathaniel, "all of you . . . mean the best for me." Her gaze returned to Chris. "Thank you," she ended on a whisper. Their arms encircled one another in a quick, tight hug. When they parted, she swiped a stray tear from her cheek, took a deep breath, and returned to the counter. "I just don't want to be a burden." Allie watched Chris turn his back and bow his head; one of his hands resting on his hip moved up towards his face, and she realized he must be wiping his own tears away. It moved her that he seemed to feel so deeply for her. And she wondered if she deserved that kind of loyalty.

"Allie," Cora said, "We've talked about this. You said you'd do the same for me. Remember?" Allie nodded. "No more crappy talk, then. OK?"

Despite herself, a small grin flitted across her face at Cora's unique phrase before she replied, "It's just hard. I don't want to put any of you in danger. And now, Fontaine with his tweets. I feel like things are spiraling out of control. Affecting other people."

"We're all adults, Allie. If we didn't want to be here, we wouldn't be. So just put that 'crappy' stuff out of your mind," Nathaniel said, mimicking Cora with a grin of his own. After a brief pause, he continued, "About those tweets. I'm thinking Fontaine might lay off."

"Yeah? How do you figure that?" Chris asked.

"Well, let's just say, between Coach and me, Le Rat got an earful," Nathaniel replied.

* * *

Shortly after he'd spoken to Chris on the phone, Nathaniel had met with Coach at the arena. Coach told him he didn't know what instigated the confrontation, but he planned to talk to both players separately today. "Fontaine should be here in about 15 minutes," he'd stated.

Nathaniel wanted to get ahead of this bullshit. He respected Chris and the way he played—a Grinder, a team player, and a good guy. And damn, Nathaniel loved Cora like crazy, and Allie was her friend. As a scout, he had influence among coaches and managers around the league. He could put a bug in a few ears if he needed to. So, he waited. When Le Rat emerged from Coach's office, Nathaniel called out, "Fontaine."

Le Rat stopped abruptly and turned. "EA! Hey, how are you, man?" he greeted, hand outstretched and a big smile on his face.

Nathaniel shook his hand then asked, "What's up with the tweets about Tobias?"

"Not you, too," Fontaine replied. "I just got an earful from Coach." When Nathaniel remained silent and stone-faced, he shifted on his feet then continued, "You know the fucker punched me, right? For no reason."

"I know you pissed him off enough that he punched you," Nathaniel replied.

"He's nothing but a Plug. He could have fucked me up big time. Maybe even fucked up my chances of going to The Show. So fuck him."

Nathaniel stared at Le Rat, waiting for him to calm down. "Fontaine, let me give you some advice. As a scout." He paused. "You willing to listen?" It seemed to take Le Rat a long time to decide, but Nathaniel's hard, aqua-blue gaze did not waver. Finally, Le Rat nodded, barely. "Everyone knows you're talented—scoring, skating, stick handling. You got it all. But if you keep pulling this kind of shit and it gets out of hand, no team is gonna want you. You'll get a rep as a trouble-maker and you won't make it to The Show yourself."

"But he's the one—"

"You're the one going public with crap. No team wants to deal with that kind of shit. It won't take much for you to get a rep as more trouble than you're worth. You might get a few nibbles, but believe me when I tell you, in the long run, it's a losing game. Yeah, you'll make it to The Show, but you'll be traded around the league until you're on a team so desperate they'll be willing to put up with your crap." He paused to allow this to sink in. "So. You gonna knock off the tweets or what?" Nathaniel continued to hold Le Rat's gaze.

After a tense moment, Le Rat blinked then shrugged. "Yeah," he mumbled before turning and walking away, anger in every stride.

* * *

"That was too easy, EA," Chris said.

"You think he'll really leave Chris alone?" Allie asked, eyes hopeful.

"His ego won't let him jeopardize his career," Nathaniel said, "so I'm thinking he might back off. But you gotta keep your cool, Fox. You can't let that little prick provoke you."

"Yeah, I know. I don't want to hurt the team any more than I already have."

"Look," Nathaniel said, "you have a good rep among players and coaches across the league. Just keep doing what you're doing without letting your emotions get the better of you."

Chris felt Allie's small, warm hand close over his larger one. He looked up at her and thought he saw a plea in her eyes, but something more, as well—reassurance, comfort. Lacing his fingers through hers, he raised her hand and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles. He looked back at Nathaniel and nodded.

* * *

After they'd cleaned up the remnants of dinner, they sat in Allie's living room, sipping the last of the second bottle of wine they'd opened at dinner.

Allie decided—and it had been her decision—to stay home the next few days and Chris would stay with her.

"What are you guys doing for Christmas?" Cora asked.

"We haven't talked about it," Allie replied, with a brief look at Chris. She felt suddenly shy, not wanting to make any assumptions. And really, she had no clue what Chris' plans might be.

"Well, last year, Evan and I went to Jackie's. I don't know what their plans are for this year, though."

"You're not going home?" Cora asked.

"Too long a trip and we have a game the day after."

"Don't you usually go to your dad's?" Allie asked Cora.

"Yeah. But I decided to stay home this year." She looked at Nathaniel, eyes softening, then back to Allie, "too much going on here for me to leave right now."

"Will he come east?"

"Probably not since he was just here for Thanksgiving." After a pause, Cora looked around at all of them. "How about if we . . . all of us— Jackie and Evan, too if they want—get together at my house Christmas Day?"

Allie hesitated, trying to read everyone's face, trying to gauge how they might feel about the idea. Chris' eyes brightened when he looked at her. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Do you think Jackie and Evan might want to come?"

Chris shrugged, "Maybe. Evan's not going anywhere, either, unless it's to Jackie's parents' place."

"It'll be fun," Cora exclaimed.

Allie looked at her shining eyes and at Nathaniel's indulgent smile. "Potluck," she stated, "we can all bring something."

And so they'd agreed. Chris would extend the invitation to Jackie and Evan and they'd finalize their plans by the end of the week.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Grinder:** a player that usually plays on the third or fourth line of the offense. Has hands of stone [i.e. not a great puck handler], but is physical and works hard when he's out on the ice. Usually beloved by the rest of the team.

 **The Show:** the NHL, used in the context of "making it to The Show."

Source: thehockeywritersdotcom/how-to-talk-like-a-hockey-player

Special thanks to MedicineGal815 for introducing me to the perfect song lyrics for Chapter 18, "Daring to Love." She thought it fit how Allie is feeling and I think she's right, so I've gone back and added those lyrics to the beginning of Chapter 18.

I do not own the rights to "Sense of Discovery."

Thank you readers, and especially those of you who post reviews and/or "favor" and "follow" this story. You all make me want to keep writing!


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 **Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair**

Black is the color of my true love's hair  
His face so soft and wondrous fair  
The purest eyes  
And the strongest hands  
I love the ground on where he stands  
I love the ground on where he stands

Black is the color of my true love's hair  
Of my true love's hair  
Of my true love's hair

Oh I love my lover  
And where he goes  
Yes, I love the ground on where he goes  
And still I hope  
That the time will come  
When he and I will be as one  
When he and I will be as one

So black is the color of my true love's hair  
Black is the color of my true love's hair  
Black is the color of my true love's hair

by Nina Simone

Black Is the Color of My True Love's Hair lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

* * *

They lay in bed that night, Allie's head nestled on his shoulder, Chris' fingers lightly stroking her arm. "I'm not playing tomorrow night," he began, "but I'll be back on the ice for Tuesday night's game." Allie concurred with a sleepy hum. "Would you come on Tuesday? Jackie'll be there. You can sit together. And . . . knowing you're in the stands . . . maybe wearing that tank top under your shirt like you did last night . . ." he let the sentence linger as his hand slid down to her hip.

She snuggled a little closer. "I'd be happy to cheer you on," she murmured.

Although Allie had decided Chris could stay overnight with her for the next couple of days, she had insisted that he stick to his regular routine when he had games. "You should nap at home and do all the things you usually do on your game days. You can come here afterwards and sleep over." She knew he wasn't completely satisfied with the arrangement but he needed to refocus on himself. And she needed time on her own, time to be with herself, time to become comfortable with herself again. Time to be brave and strong and independent.

After a few silent moments, Chris whispered, "You awake?"

"Mmmm hmmmm," Allie mumbled.

"Can I ask you something?"

The tone of his voice gave Allie pause and she lifter her head, turned to look at him, her arms resting across his chest. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing. I . . ."

He rarely hesitated like this and Allie was sure something was wrong. Growing concerned, she reached over and snapped on the small reading lamp that stood on her bedside table. "What's wrong?" she asked again when she saw the troubled expression in his blinking eyes.

After a moment, his gaze settled on her. "I'll be FaceTime-ing with my sister and my parents this week." He folded one arm behind his head before continuing, "Would you be willing . . . um . . . I don't want to pressure you . . . and I know it would be better if you met them in person, but would you—"

"FaceTime with you?" she finished. He nodded once. She pushed off him and sat up, adjusting her pillow behind her. He looked up at her and flipped onto his side, propped his head on his hand but did not touch her.

This would mark another big step forward in their relationship and she wondered if she was ready for it. What would his parents think of her? Would they be upset that she wasn't Native? Would they be wary of her past? Wonder what their son saw in her? Wonder if she was worth the trouble that may come with being involved with someone like her? He'd talked about his family often enough that she felt Bella could be a friend, but honestly, his mother scared her a little. She'd formed a certain picture in her mind—someone larger than life. A strong, independent woman who could take care of herself. A woman who garnered the kind of love and loyalty that would inspire a man to leave his home, move across a continent and to another country to be with her. Definitely _not_ a woman who would allow a man like Stephen into her life. She must be an amazing woman.

"No worries, eh. Only if you're comfortable with the idea. I'd just like them to meet you, even if it is through FaceTime the first time. Bella's been worried about how I'm spending Christmas. She's been texting me every other day."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I wouldn't be alone."

"I bet that just sparked her curiosity," Allie said with a small smile.

Chris chuckled. "You know her already."

She stared at him. At his intense, honest eyes that really hid very little. Did he love her? He hadn't said the words, but Allie felt his love in so many ways. His every gesture towards her, the way he treated her like she was truly precious, the way he showed how much he cared every chance he got. The way he came to her rescue when Stephen could have . . . could have killed her. Yes, God help her, he could have killed her if Chris hadn't come back that night.

Did she love him? Her eyes roamed his face and she knew the answer. It was there in her heart even though she hadn't voiced it aloud yet. Because she was afraid. Afraid to make the wrong decision. Afraid of falling in love with the wrong man again. Again? No, not "again." Deep down, she knew she never loved Stephen. Not truly. Not the way she loved Chris. And there it was. Finally. She admitted it—she loved Christopher Uncas Tobias. With all her heart. She was _in love_ with him. Stephen had simply been the fallout from the unfortunate events in her life at the time.

She took a deep breath. "Yes, I'll FaceTime with you."

His face broke out into that big, toothless smile that she absolutely adored. He wrapped his arms around her and burrowed his head in her lap. She felt rather than heard his mumbled "thank you" rumble against her belly. The vibration of his voice tickled her once again but she had no clue what he'd said. "What was that?" she asked as she feathered her fingers through his hair and lifted his head so she could look into his eyes.

"I said, don't worry, they're going to love you." He gazed up at her then deposited a kiss on her forearm.

"You think so? They won't be upset that I'm white? After what you went through? What your family went through?"

"It won't matter to them. I mean, would my parents be happy if I found an Indian woman to settle down with? I'm not going to lie to you. They'd be thrilled. But I promise you, they just want me to be happy, eh." He paused, staring up at her. "You make me happy, Allie. And that will make them happy."

"Settle down." What did he mean? Was he thinking marriage already? Her hands slid from his cheeks and landed with a soft thump on either side of her.

"What, baby? What's the matter?" He rose to sit up on his knees, lightly gripped her arms.

She took a deep breath. "Nothing, Chris. Just a little nervous, I guess."

He pulled her to him and she allowed herself to yield, to slide her arms around him, and chose to ignore the words, for now. At this moment, she could only deal with one crazy-strong emotion at a time. And her list of stressors, in addition to whatever happened when Stephen was served, just got longer. But at least Chris would be by her side when she met his parents and sister. And after all he'd done for her, this was something she could do for him.

* * *

On Tuesday night, Allie and Jackie sat in seats about 10 rows behind the Blades players' bench. As Chris had requested, Allie wore her "Tobias" tank top under a wide-necked, semi-off-the-shoulder, charcoal grey sweater. Not that anyone except the two of them would know, but she felt a little secret shared joy, a private connection with him amidst the crowd. Jackie wore a Blades jersey with Evan's name and number on the back. Allie looked around and saw several fans draped in the same jersey. And while she saw a few "Fontaine" shirts, she didn't see any with Chris' name and wondered what was up with that. She hoped Le Rat's tweet hadn't affected his popularity. Fontaine had deleted the tweet after Coach and Nathaniel talked to him and replaced it with some innocuous comment about their upcoming games. Coach had quelched reporter curiosity by implying that Chris had been a bit under the weather for a few days, but not ill enough to be scratched from the line-up. And then she spotted two young, cute women three rows down sidling into their seats; when they turned to sit, she saw that both of them had Chris' name and number splashed across the backs of their Blades jerseys.

Jackie seemed to take things in stride, but Allie was curious about how she dealt with Evan's popularity. "How do you feel when you see so many fans wearing Evan's number?"

"I consider it a tribute to him," she replied. "Why? You jealous of those Puck Bunnies down there wearing Chris' number?" she asked, with a nod towards the women a few rows below.

"Not really. I'm actually glad. I was feeling kind of bad that no one had his number."

"He's pretty popular with the die-hard fans."

"And with women!" she laughed, "I've seen the looks he gets when we're out together."

"Can you blame them?" Jackie replied, giggling like a teenager.

"No," Allie said, "and Evan's easy on the eyes, too."

"Mmmmm. Oh, yeah," Jackie agreed.

"And he seems like a really, really nice guy, Jackie."

"Yeah. I think I'll keep him!" And they laughed again.

When the game started, Allie watched Chris as much as she could. And just like in the previous game she'd attended, it was easy to keep track of him due to his size and the way he played. And that black hair flowing out from beneath his helmet made him pretty noticeable, too. When he skated onto the ice for his first shift, he looked a little slow, a little sluggish. Jackie explained that even though he'd been practicing with the team, when you sit out games, it can take at least a few shifts, sometimes an entire game, to get your legs back. "Games are much more intense, much faster than anything they do in practice."

With a little under five minutes left in the first period, Chris' line was on the ice. He slammed one of the opposing players into the boards, causing the guy to lose control of the puck. The other winger on Chris' line picked up the loose puck and zipped towards the net. He unleashed a blistering slap shot that the goalie saved with his blocker. The puck rebounded into the mass of players swarming around the net; Chris and one of the opposing defensemen battled for position in front while the goalie slashed Chris' legs with his stick. Chris' linemates were fighting for the puck, trying to break it loose and get a shot off. After much struggling, the player who'd taken the original shot got his stick on the black disc and flipped it over the prone goalie's left shoulder. The goal buzzer blared and a red light like a fire truck's flashed across the arena. The crowd, including Jackie and Allie, jumped out of their seats cheering like crazy. "Wow!" Jackie yelled into Allie's ear, "not a pretty goal, but a hard fought one for sure! Chris made that goal happen."

The defenseman who'd been wrestling with Chris cross-checked him across the back. Chris toppled to his knees. Still gripping his stick, he planted his gloved fists onto the ice. "Hey!" Allie shouted as the crowd booed the cheap shot. Blades players who were on the ice quickly intervened and shoved the guy away as Chris pushed himself up. Players on both teams bunched together while the guys on the benches banged their sticks against the boards. The linesmen quickly separated the combatants before the small skirmish blossomed into something bigger and nastier. In the end, Chris and the guy who'd cross-checked him each got a two-minute penalty. "Why'd Chris get a penalty? He didn't do anything wrong, did he?" Allie asked Jackie.

"No. But sometimes, the refs do that to even things up, especially when players like Chris are involved. His reputation precedes him and they figure he probably did something to deserve a penalty. Plus, the refs think it'll keep the peace if both teams get penalized. Otherwise, the Blades would have a power play and another chance to score. That could raise the stress level in an already tense game. And it's only the first period. The refs are trying to keep control. But really, the Blades should have gotten a power play. That was a nasty cross-check from behind."

Allie watched Chris skate to the penalty box, his teammates tapping him with their sticks in appreciation of his efforts. He sat breathing heavily, wiped his face with a towel, and took a quick swig of water. She could see the opposing player jawing at him. Chris turned to him, said something then pointed to the scoreboard that read: Blades 1 - Visitors 0. That seemed to shut the guy up. Allie smiled in appreciation of Chris' simple, straightforward response to what she imagined was some kind of taunt. The last few minutes of the period remained as peaceful as any hockey game could be.

The score didn't change through the mostly uneventful second period, except that Chris got into a fight with the guy he'd run into the boards earlier in the game. No punches were thrown; it was more of a skirmish that showcased a lot of clutching and yanking of jerseys. Neither Chris nor his opponent were able to free their hands to throw a punch, for which Allie was grateful.

At the start of the 3rd period, she could feel the tension thick in the air. And as the period wore on, she watched the guy who'd fought Chris shadow him. Anytime he got within striking distance, he slashed Chris with his stick, usually hitting him on the shin, the calf, or across the forearm. Chris ignored him, choosing to skate away instead. But with a little over 5 minutes left in the game, the guy was again shadowing Chris. Holding his stick in both hands, he swung upward; the blade seemed to disappear into the fabric of Chris' jersey on his left side. Allie sucked in a breath as Chris double over and fell to the ice. The crowd booed heartily. One of the referees blew the whistle and signaled a 2-minute slashing penalty, giving the Blades a power play. "FINALLY!" Jackie yelled. "That guy's been all over Chris the entire period!" Various colorful catcalls rang out around them; the tamest ones referred to the refs' lack of 20/20 vision. Chris' linemates skated up to him, patted him on the back, obviously inquiring if he was OK. Slowly, he rose to his knees and sat back on his heels. He nodded his head before gingerly picking himself up. The crowd cheered as he skated to the bench. Allie watched the trainer lift Chris' jersey and probe the area where the stick had made contact. Chris seemed to flinch a bit, but it was difficult to be certain from this distance.

"He'll be fine," Jackie reassured her. "These guys always have bruises or some kind of injuries. Evan's favorite saying is 'you gotta play hurt.' And these guys do. Every one of them."

"I don't know how they do it," Allie shook her head. Something gnawed at the back of her mind. But she mentally shook herself and cheered when Evan scored during the power play, sealing the Blades 2-0 victory.

* * *

Back at Allie's house that night, she noticed Chris moving a little stiffly. "You're hurt," she stated.

"Mostly just sore, eh" he replied. "A few tough hits, you know."

They were sitting on her living room couch, Bill Evans playing softly in the background. "Yeah. I do know. How're your ribs?" She tugged at his shirt.

"Hey," he said nudging her hands away with a grin, "you just trying to get into my pants?"

"Whatever it takes so I can look at your calves, too. They're probably black and blue." She grabbed for his shirt again; her hands clipped his left side. He grunted and flinched slightly. "I'm sorry!" This as she pulled away.

He held her arms. "It's OK, sweetheart. Not a big deal."

Silently, she reached for him once more, tugged his shirt up, and peered at his left side. A nasty looking bruise, whorls of dark blue, deep magenta, and black, had formed along his ribs. A narrow bandage, about five inches long, was taped over a portion of the bruise. "What's this?" she asked, fingering it gently. "Do you need ice or anything?"

"No. Thanks," he replied, "I iced it after the game, eh. The blade of his stick nicked me. I can probably take this off, now." He peeled back the taped gauze to reveal a superficial cut carved into his skin, almost like a brush burn that had bled a bit.

"Don't you wear padding there? How'd you get cut?"

"There's a small gap where the padding ends and the pants start. That's where he nailed me."

"No ribs broken?"

"No. I'm alright. Had worse," he reminded her. When she remained silent and stared at him, a slight frown creasing her face, he repeated, "I'm OK, sweetheart. Just tired, eh. I'm sorry you were there for the fight."

"Wasn't much of a fight," she replied. At his raised eyebrows, she continued, "Honestly, it was harder to watch that guy go after you with his stick and that other guy hit you in the back. And of course, that awful slash at the end. At least when you fight, you have a chance to defend yourself. That other stuff, I'm starting to think it's worse than the fighting."

"You sound like an old-time fan," he laughed.

"Jackie said most of you guys play hurt. Is that true?"

"On a good day, most of us usually have at least a few bruises. But we all know it's part of the game. No one talks about injuries because you don't want anyone to take advantage of you." Her eyes widened. "If there's any way to get an edge, you jump on it." She shook her head, uncomprehending. "I'll be fine. I just need to get some rest," he finished.

After a brief pause, she acquiesced, "OK. You ready for bed? I mean . . . literally . . . sleep."

He grinned and hugged her. "You are so precious," he murmured.

* * *

Chris walked into Allie's house after practice on Wednesday and inhaled deeply. Chocolate chip cookies, maybe? Hopefully. He heard Christmas music floating from the direction of the kitchen. After shucking his coat and dropping his keys on the hall table, he followed his nose and ears. Allie, a festive snowman apron wrapping her slender frame, brandished a spatula in one hand and a cookie sheet just out of the oven, in the other. "Allie?"

"You're just in time to help me make cookies," she exclaimed. "This is only my first batch. I thought we could bring some to Cora's on Christmas day." Jackie and Evan were going to Jackie's parents for Christmas dinner but had promised to meet them for dessert afterwards. "I even have an apron for you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Um . . . an apron?"

"Over there," she nodded at the kitchen table as she slid the cookies onto a cooling rack.

Chris picked up the apron, held it up, and chuckled, "OK, I can deal with this."

After he tied it around himself, Allie laughed and said, "You've got to be the tallest elf ever!" The apron was designed so that Chris appeared to be dressed as an elf in red and white striped socks, and a green, belted elf suit. The curled elf shoes were only as low as his thighs, so the illusion was somewhat shattered.

"OK. I'm ready. What do you want me to do?"

"Did you have lunch?"

"Yeah. Me and Evan and couple of the other guys had a quick lunch at Becky's. No worries. But I didn't have dessert, yet," he said, staring at her lips. Maybe it was the Christmas music playing in the background, Nat King Cole singing "The Christmas Song," one of Chris' favorites. Or maybe it was just her full, pink lips widening into a broad smile—something he hadn't seen enough of since he'd met her. God, she was even more beautiful when she smiled—her whole face radiated. He touched her cheek and turned her to face him. The cookie sheet and spatula slid onto the counter as he bent and kissed her. She tasted like sugar and cinnamon. When the kiss ended, their lips barely a breadth apart, he murmured, "Have you been sampling the goods?"

"Well," she whispered against his mouth, "I have to make sure the cookies taste alright. I decided to make the sacrifice." They grinned, lips still mingling, arms tight around one another.

They spent the next two hours baking various kinds of cookies, taking turns measuring and mixing ingredients. Chris' favorite task was decorating the sugar cookies. As Allie pulled out the final batch, she turned to him and exclaimed, "You've got a green nose!"

"I am an elf, right? And now," he dotted the tip of her nose with a dollop of green icing, "you are, too!"

"Hey!" She danced away from him, balancing the cookie sheet in one oven-mitted hand while aiming the spatula at him like a fencing foil.

As he advanced towards her he said, "You don't scare me, Julia Child!" He grasped her waist and proceeded to swing his hips to the sounds of a Christmas song. "Silver Bells . . . silver bells . . . it's Christmas time in the city," Chris crooned an octave lower than Johnny Mathis. Allie stared up at him; the baking sheet slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Cookies caromed and rolled in three different directions.

"Oh, shit," Allie mumbled, her voice lacking any kind of urgency.

"Oops. Sorry," Chris murmured, but he didn't let her go. "Dance with me, sweetheart." He continued singing and swaying their bodies in time to the music. The spatula and oven mitt joined the forgotten cookies on the floor as they danced among the crumbled pieces.

* * *

They sat at Allie's kitchen counter and stared at the screen of his laptop. "You ready?" Chris asked. They'd stored the cookies, cleaned up the kitchen, and even ate dinner. It was almost 9:00 and the three-hour time difference made it 6:00 in the evening in Kamloops.

Allie took a deep breath, sipped her wine then nodded. He squeezed her hand and said, "We got this." She smiled briefly, but couldn't deny that her stomach was doing a few somersaults. One more gulp of courage before they connected.

Bella's big smile lit up the screen. "Big brother!" she practically yelled.

"Bella, girl!" he replied. "How are you?"

Allie took this time to study the attractive young woman. Long hair was gathered loosely into a messy knot at the crown of her head and her face was beaming with happiness. But her light brown eyes were inquisitive as they slid to Allie. Instead of answering Chris' question, she stated, "You must be Allie."

The girl's frankness surprised her and Allie blinked, shifted the tiniest bit. Chris edged his stool behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. She could feel his grin against the side of her neck—and the blush that crept up her face. "Bella, this is Allie. Allie, my sister, Bella Ayaks." Chris introduced them formerly.

"Nice to meet you," Allie said.

"Same here. How long have you guys been going out? Chris hasn't said a word. Not until I asked him if he was going to be alone for Christmas. Stinker!" she exclaimed.

Allie laughed and relaxed against Chris. It was clear that Bella was very comfortable in her own skin, and especially comfortable with her big brother. "Well," she began, "we've known each other since, what, late summer?" she half turned towards Chris.

He nodded and added, "Officially, we've been dating since right after Thanksgiving."

"That's only a few weeks!" Bella noted.

"But we've known each other for months," Chris reminded her.

"So, what are you doing for Christmas?"

"We're getting together with friends," Chris explained. "Craig coming home for Christmas?"

"Not sure. He's trying to get some extra time off so he can stay for a couple of weeks."

"You tell Mom and Dad we were FaceTime-ing?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. They're super curious." She turned her head and yelled for her parents.

Allie gulped and leaned back into Chris. "It's OK, baby" he whispered into her ear.

As two figures edged into view, Allie pulled away from Chris, not wanting to embarrass herself by seeming to be enveloped by him. She sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap.

"Hi, honey," his mom began.

His father said simply, "Son."

"Mom. Dad. This is Allie."

"Allie. My mom, Ahnah and my dad, Chingachgook."

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Tobias," Allie said, not about to try to pronounce his father's name.

"Allie. Is that short for 'Alice?'" Ahnah asked.

Her gaze was direct and somehow unforgiving. It made Allie feel as if there was a wrong answer to the innocuous question. She cleared her throat and found her voice. "Yes," she replied.

After a brief pause, his father said, "Nice to meet you."

Despite the stern set of his mouth and serious glint in his dark eyes, he looked, unexpectedly, approachable in an odd sort of way. Allie couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something strong and thoughtful, perhaps even perceptive, in his face that almost seemed to call to her. He wore his hair in the same severe style she'd seen in the photo on Chris' dresser, except that now, some grey intertwined with the black hair of his braids. "Likewise," Allie replied.

"I wish it could be in person," Ahnah said.

"So do I," Allie agreed.

"Chris," Bella interrupted, "why don't you come home the week between Christmas and New Years?"

"Wish I could," he said and tilted his head against Allie's temple. "I've got three games that week—one the day after Christmas. Then after New Year's Day we're on the road for a couple of weeks."

"How did you meet?" asked Ahnah.

Allie felt Chris' arm tightened around her waist before he offered an abbreviated version, concluding with, "She doesn't even like hockey but she's already been to two games." The pride in his voice was obvious. It humbled her because really, it was such a small thing to do, especially when weighed against all he'd done for her. She turned to him and smiled. He returned her smile and hugged her briefly. And Allie felt, for the first time since they'd connected with his family online, comfortable. Unafraid. Safe. When she turned back to the screen, she noticed a peculiar look on Chingachgook's face— not knowing him at all, she couldn't read it, but there was something reassuring about the way he gazed at her for the briefest of moments. It was gone so quickly she thought maybe she'd imagined it.

"He made cookies with me this afternoon," Allie added.

Bella's eyes widened. "He did? I don't believe it. He usually prefers eating them, not making them," she teased.

"He did," Allied assured. Suddenly, she was left alone in front of the laptop as Chris popped off his stool and disappeared into the depths of the kitchen.

Returning, he held a tray of cookies encased in plastic wrap and exclaimed, "Look!" He tilted it to offer a better view. He reminded Allie of Sweet Jess when she showed her paper fish to Chris the first time he'd come to the preschool.

"Chris!" his mother shouted.

"What?"

"Shit!" Allie blurted as she turned and caught a few cookies that slipped from beneath the plastic wrap. Immediately, Chris righted the tray, stemming the slow hemorrhage.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," Allie breathed as she turned back to the screen. She could feel the heat of embarrassment flow from her neck to her hairline. Had she really just cursed in front of his parents and little sister? "Holy crap!" she thought to herself, "what a way to make an impression." Below the view of the screen, the cookies crumbled in her anxious fists.

Chris placed the tray on the counter. From behind, he wrapped an arm around Allie across her collarbone. "My fault, sweetheart," he said then kissed her ear. "I helped make lasagna last week, too," he stated proudly. He gave Allie a quick squeeze.

As Allie continued to gaze at the screen, across the miles, she realized that all three of them, Bella, Ahnah, and Chingachgook were smiling. Chuckling. Then outright laughing. She breathed a sigh of relief and joined in. "Told you they'd like you, sweetheart," Chris whispered.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own the rights to any of the songs referenced in this chapter:

"Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair" composed and performed by Nina Simone (Lauryn Hill also does an amazing version of this gorgeous song). I recently heard a beautiful and mesmerizing live version of the song available on The Essential Nina Simone. It has an almost classical feel to it as her fingers run up and down the keyboard, pounding out her passion. I think it's breath-taking and overwhelming—exactly how Allie is feeling about admitting her love for Chris (even if it's only to herself).

"The Christmas Song" sung by Nat King Cole composed by Mel Torme and Robert Wells

"Silver Bells" sung by Johnny Mathis composed by Ray Evans and Jay Livingston

I do not own the rights to FaceTime.

Ahnah – an Inuit name for a female; means "a wise woman."

A BIG thank you to Conbird who shared her idea of Chris and Allie FaceTime-ing with his parents and sister. It wasn't something I'd thought about at all—I expected their first meeting to occur much later in the story, if at all, and in-person. But it turned out that Chris' simple request allowed Allie to finally admit (at least to herself) that she loves him. A very important moment for her on many levels.

Chris singing to Allie came out of a discussion with MohawkWoman about a movie, Kissed By Lightning, in which Eric Schweig sings! When she told me about it, I just KNEW Chris had to sing to Allie in that deep baritone voice of his!

Any "medical mistakes" are my own. You medical types who might be reading (you know who you are!), please let me know if I botched Chris' little bruise/cut.

You never know where these characters are going to take you. Or where the comments/suggestions/ideas and discussions with you wonderful readers will lead. THANK YOU ALL!


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 **And I Love Her**

She gives me everything  
And tenderly  
The kiss my lover brings  
She brings to me  
And I love her

A love like ours  
Could never die  
As long as I  
Have you near me

Bright are the stars that shine  
Dark is the sky  
I know this love of mine  
Will never die  
And I love her

A love like ours  
Could never die  
As long as I  
Have you near me

Original lyrics by Lennon and McCartney; this version by Kurt Cobain from Montage of Heck - The Home Recordings

* * *

Lounging against the headboard of his bed, Chris sat, long legs extended and crossed at the ankles, and stared at the object in his hand. It was the key to Allie's front door. He'd let himself in her house yesterday after practice and they'd made cookies. And FaceTime'd with his parents and Bella. It was all so fucking domestic. Which he thought should have scared the hell out of him. But it didn't. In fact, he'd felt a deep sense of peace. Of serenity. Of home. He was awed that she had given him her key. That her trust in him had grown so much.

On Sunday night, after they'd watched Cora and Nathaniel drive away, Allie had shut the front door and turned in his arms, settling her hands on his chest. She'd looked up at him, big eyes luminous, and said, "I want to give you something."

"Christmas isn't until next weekend," he'd replied, caressing her back, "I don't have your gift, yet."

Slipping her hand into his, she smiled and led him into the dining room. She stopped in front of her roll top desk and assured him, "It's not a Christmas gift," then slid open a narrow drawer and sifted through its contents. When she found what she was searching for, she turned and held the object out to him. He stared at the rectangle-shaped keychain adorned with a picture of the Portland Headlight, and the lone key that dangled from it. "Since you'll be coming and going a lot, for awhile at least, you should have a key to my house. Cora has one, too."

After a brief pause, he gazed into her eyes and asked, "Are you sure?" Mutely, she nodded. He reached out and gently took the key from her fingers. "Thank you for trusting me," he whispered. In reply, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. Without realizing it, she'd helped ease his trepidation about asking her to meet his parents through FaceTime.

He understood the kind of courage it took for her to give him free access to her home. And it humbled him. That night, they'd made slow, tender love, and he'd never felt so needed, so important. So alive.

The look in her eyes when she'd held out the key—full of trust, and something else. He sucked in a breath and slung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. "Holy shit," he breathed. His fingers closed over her key so tightly, he was sure it would leave an impression on his palm. He bowed his head, resting it on his clenched fist. "Allie." Her name escaped in a reverenced whisper as realization slammed into him. He loved her. He was _in love_ with her. Goddamn. He didn't expect it—not this soon. But he couldn't deny it. He loved Allie Alice Munro.

* * *

"I like her, Chris. She's sweet, eh. And she's putting up with you even though she doesn't like hockey!" Bella exclaimed.

"I know, eh," Chris replied as he plopped onto his bed, cradling his cell phone in one hand and a hockey stick in the other; he tapped the tip of his boot with the blade of the stick. It was Thursday evening. Evan was at Jackie's. Cora was working night shift on Christmas Eve but had Friday off so Allie was staying overnight at her house. Chris had a game Friday night and then practice on Saturday morning.

"I can't believe you made cookies! Holy crap! You must be in love!"

Chris chuckled. "Bella?"

"Yes?" she replied, dragging out the "e."

"I am," Chris murmured.

"Seriously?"

He swallowed, still getting used to the emotions swirling inside him. "Yeah."

"Have you told her?"

"Not yet. I don't want to scare her off."

"Why would you scare her off?"

"Long story. I'll tell you sometime."

"Oh, you are a shit, big brother! You can't say something like that and then drop it!"

"She's been through some tough stuff recently. I don't want to pressure her, that's all." Bella was silent on the other end. Chris could practically hear the wheels turning in her head—feel the concern rolling off her. He probably should have waited to tell her, but he needed to talk to someone about what he was feeling. "Mom or Dad there?"

"Yeah. You want to get their impressions, eh?"

He smiled. "I know Mom, at least, will tell me exactly what she thinks."

"Don't worry. I think they like her. She cursed when you got all klutzy! Seems like she can handle you. And you're just a big teddy bear, anyway, big brother!" Bella's guffaw forced Chris to pull the phone away from his ear.

"Damn, girl! I need my hearing to play hockey, you know."

She continued to cackle. "I'll get Mom. Dad's not home from work, yet."

"Thanks, Bella. I love you."

"I love you, too, big brother."

After less than a minute, Chris heard his mother's soothing, mellow voice, "Hi, honey."

"Hi, Mom."

"So. Cookies. Lasagna. You're getting very domesticated these days."

"Uh. Yeah."

"How serious is it, Christopher?" she asked in her blunt way. This was his mom—no poking with a few subtle hints—just straightforward and honest.

When he wanted to, Chris could be the same way—he'd learned well from her. "I love her," he replied without hesitation.

"And does she feel the same about you?"

"I don't know. I haven't told her yet."

"How do you _think_ she feels?"

"It's complicated, eh." He briefly described Allie's previous relationship and the unexpected deaths of her parents—just enough to give his mom an understanding of Allie's vulnerability, her caution, her fear. Because even with his own family, he felt it was up to Allie to share her whole story. If she wanted to.

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Your father. After we FaceTime'd last night he told me there was something deep inside that girl. Some deep pain. He's worried."

"About her?"

"About her. About how you can forge a relationship with someone who's in that much pain. I'll let him tell you, but, basically, he thinks the two of you recognize something in each other. You've both been through very hurtful things. He sees those parts of each of you reaching out to one another."

Chris heard something skeptical in her voice. "You don't agree?"

"I'm just not sure. Hard to make that kind of assessment in such a short period of time. And I'm not sure a long term relationship can be sustained on that. But you know your father. He gets a sense of things very quickly."

"Like when he left home to be with you?"

"Exactly. She seems like a sweet girl, but I'd like to meet her, of course. Get to know her better."

"I wish I lived closer, Mom."

"I know, honey. Maybe we'll come for a visit."

"Yeah?"

"Your brother is in Toronto. If he can't get out here for the holidays, maybe we can fly out to see him. Then on to Portland."

"That would be great!"

"It's been a while since we've come east. We'll see." After a few more minutes of light conversation, Ahnah said, "Before I forget. I know next summer is a ways off, but your father and I are planning something for our 35th anniversary. We want to make it a family reunion, too. Late June—think you could come out for that?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Sounds great."

"OK, honey. I love you. Let's talk again soon. I'll tell your father you called."

"Love you, too, Mom."

* * *

Cora and Allie lounged on floor pillows in front of Cora's blazing gas fireplace. A nearly empty bottle of red wine, assorted cheeses and other munchies on the coffee table behind them. They'd polished off half the bottle at dinner and now twirled refilled glasses in their hands.

"Do you know if Stephen's been served, yet?" Cora asked.

Allie nodded, "Yesterday at 4:30."

"Probably when he got home after his shift. If he comes near you, he's violating the order. You can call the police. They'll arrest him."

"Yeah," Allie paused for a deep breath before continuing, "Trial's set for January 13. It's a Friday."

"Oh, crap. Are you superstitious?" Cora asked.

"I never used to be, but now . . . I wonder sometimes . . ."

"You know we'll all be there for you, right? Me, Nathaniel, Chris."

She nodded again, placed her glass beside her on the floor, and wrapped her arms around her bent legs. "Chris already talked to his coach about it. He'll probably be able to get the time off to testify for me. From what he's told me, that's pretty rare."

Cora agreed, "They're strict about players missing practices or games." After taking a sip of her wine, she continued, "He's a good guy, Allie. Things seem to be going well."

"I think so. I feel really lucky."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything. Anytime."

Cora smiled then ventured, "Do you love him?" She sounded almost hesitant—unusual for Cora.

Allie stared into the fire, rested her chin on her knees. Finally, she sighed and turned to look at Cora. "Yes."

"Have you told him, yet?"

"No. I'm not sure he feels the same way."

"He does. I would put money on it."

"What makes you think so?" Allie asked, straightening up. She fingered her wineglass then lifted it and took a deep swallow.

"Well, let me count the ways . . ." After setting her own glass on the table, Cora touched the tip of each finger on her left hand with her right index finger and recited, "The way he looks at you. The way he stormed through your front door when he realized you were in trouble. All the time he's spending with you but not smothering you. He's committed to testifying for you. He introduced you to his parents. What more proof do you need?"

"He has this strong protective streak. He told me he's not feeling an obligation towards me. But I need to be sure I'm not making a mistake or rebounding."

"You're not—on both counts."

"How can you know for sure, Cora? You rarely have doubts about the way you feel. About who you are. Those are things I've always admired about you. I wish I could be the same way."

"Deep down, you are. Right now, you still doubt yourself. But I think you've made some great strides towards healing. And trusting."

Allie took another long sip of her wine before revealing, "I gave him a key to my house."

Cora's eyes widened. "Well, Jesus tap dancing Christ on a cracker!" she exclaimed.

Allie burst into laughter, grateful she'd already swallowed her wine. "I didn't know Jesus was a tap dancer! And I guess the miracle is that he did it on a cracker!" The two of them giggled hysterically as they clinked their glasses together. When their laughter finally eased, Allie continued, "I don't think I've laughed that much in a while. Between you and Chris . . ." Smiling, she shook her head.

Her face composed, Cora declared, "You really are trusting him. That's huge, Allie. Be proud of taking that giant step." She squeezed Allie's arm.

"Remember I told you that my dad and I used to go to the Portland Headlight every Christmas Eve?" Cora nodded. "It started when I was a kid because 'Santa's gifts' had to be wrapped when I wasn't in the house. But my dad and I loved going there, so it became our Christmas Eve tradition. I didn't go last year—not with Stephen . . . well, you know. But I asked Chris to meet me there after his practice on Saturday. I was thinking we could go to the cemetery afterwards." Allie looked into Cora's dark, penetrating eyes and realized they were similar in color to Chris' eyes—just as deep, and sometimes, just as unfathomable. And she could not hide from either of these two people—people whom she loved most in the world.

Cora reached across and embraced her. "Oh, honey. I think that's a good idea."

"Thanks," Allie said when they parted. She hesitated only briefly, "I still don't know how I would survive without you in my life." Cora smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I think, maybe, I can tell him how I feel when we're at the lighthouse."

"Perfect. And I think he won't disappoint you," Cora replied, brushing a tear away that had escaped and slid down her cheek.

After a few minutes, Allie asked, "Hey. What about you and Nathaniel? You're not going to your dad's for Christmas. Does that mean you and Nathaniel—"

"I hope so," Cora replied. "I'm hoping for the best Christmas present ever. Like, you know, in the form of a proposal and a ring!"

"Oh, my God! That would be wonderful!" They tapped their glasses together once again. "To great times ahead," Allie toasted.

"To great times ahead," Cora echoed.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own the rights to "And I Love Her"

For some reason, the song for Chris in this chapter was tough for me to find. At first, it was Eddie Vedder's "Longing to Belong" which is just so beautiful. Then I was listening to "Thin Air," written by Stone Gossard (on Pearl Jam's Binaural) on my way home from work one day and thinking that maybe _this_ was the song. Still didn't feel quite right, though. So then Live's "The Dolphin's Cry" popped into my head and I realized the lyrics could work for Chris. I didn't think the mood of the music fit, but by this time, I'd basically given up trying to hit on the "the perfect song" and decided to go with it. Then driving with my husband on Thanksgiving, he had on the Beatles Sirius station; they were playing covers and Kurt Cobain's version of "And I Love Her" came on. I hadn't heard it before and it hit me really hard: THIS was Chris' song for Chapter 21. It's soft and acoustic, unpolished and raw, and ultimately, vulnerable. When I mentioned this to my husband, his reply was (with a big smile on his face), "And it fits in with the other songs you've used." So—FINALLY—I could move forward with the chapter (I'd been struggling with it for a few weeks. Whenever I don't have the right song, I seem to have some trouble writing about these two—go figure!) I think the other 3 songs work well for Chris but not at this point in the story.

I've also been thinking that I probably should have brought Chris' brother, Craig Miyawin, into the story a bit more. Nathaniel has kind of taken on that role, even though Chris remains close to his brother. (Lately, Craig has been chatting to me a bit, wondering why he hasn't been around.) I'd welcome any thoughts readers might have about that idea.

And now for my many "THANK YOUs" . . .

A HUGE thank you to MedicineGal815 who mentioned in her review that Chris must have a key to Allie's house, otherwise, how would he have let himself in when she was baking cookies?! True confession time: it never crossed my mind while I was writing and editing the chapter—at least not consciously! Her comment got me thinking and wondering about it myself. Christopher Uncas knew exactly how and when he got that key and luckily, he was willing to tell me about it! When I first started writing Chapter 21 the beginning was different; thanks to MedicineGal's comment, the beginning turned into something, in my opinion, more important—Chris realizing, and admitting, his love for Allie. (He hadn't gotten there in the first few drafts of the chapter.)

Another "thank you" to BrynnaRaven who introduced me to the colorful phrase Cora said in her discussion with Allie ("Jesus tap dancing Christ on a cracker"). I'd never heard it before and when BrynnaRaven used it, it totally sounded like something Cora would say! (I do think BrynnaRaven has some Cora in her!)

And a "thank you" to Conbird who put yet _another_ idea into my head which I used in this chapter: she wondered if Chris might offer to take Allie to the cemetery to visit her parents' graves. Again, something I hadn't thought of. But it seems Allie had since she wants to take Chris there herself. I don't think that would have happened without Conbird putting the initial seed into my head.

And as always, you readers are WONDERFUL! I can't thank you enough for your feedback and encouragement.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

"Love, Hate, Love"

I tried to love you, I thought I could  
I tried to own you, I thought I would  
I want to peel the skin from your face  
Before the real you lays to waste  
You told me I'm the only one

Sweet little angel you should have run  
Lying, crying, dying to leave  
Innocence creates my hell

Cheating myself, still you know more  
It would be so easy with a whore  
Try to understand me little girl  
My twisted passion to be your world

Lost inside my sick head  
I live for you, but I'm not alive  
Take my hand before I kill  
I still love you, but I still burn

Yeah, love, hate, love  
Yeah, love, hate, love  
Yeah, love, hate, love

Oh, Love, hate, love  
Yeah, Love, hate, love

Songwriters: Layne Staley / Sean Kinney / Jerry Cantrell / Michael Starr

Love, Hate, Love lyrics © BMG Rights Management

* * *

Late morning Christmas Eve, Allie sat on the porch steps of the Portland Headlight lighthouse. She arrived about 10 minutes ago, timing it so that she'd have about a half hour or so before Chris was to meet her. Being alone with herself, breathing in the cold air, and just enjoying the peace of her surroundings allowed her an opportunity to adjust to her new awareness of her feelings for Chris.

She could hear the waves of Casco Bay crashing against the rocks behind the lighthouse, furious and unrelenting. But despite the constant battering, she felt welcomed, safe here. Memories of happy Christmases past floated through her mind. Could this year, possibly, mark the first of happy Christmases to come once again? A tiny smile flitted across her face as she rose and strolled along the promenade that looped around the lighthouse.

The wind whipped across the churning water. Even though she was bundled in a thick, dark green fleece jacket, a matching knitted slouchy beret, and leather driving gloves, the cloud covered sky created a chill bite in the air, and she turned her collar up. A split rail fence, about chest high, sheathed in chain-link, barred the promenade from the rough, tumble of rocks pouring into the bay below. On the other side, words painted on the flat surface of a rock commemorated a historic event: Annie C. Maguire, shipwrecked here, Christmas Eve 1886. From what Allie could remember of the story, the lighthouse keeper and his family saved everyone on board. The company that owned the ship was in dire financial straits and eventually went bankrupt. Years later, it was discovered that the captain and his wife had ransacked the ship's sea chest of all valuables. The crew had overstayed their welcome at the lighthouse but the family tending the light continued to feed and house them until finally, it was suggested that there would be more provisions in town. Clearly, the keeper and his family were exceptionally generous people who truly understood their role as keepers of the light—maintaining the lighthouse and assisting all who found themselves in need of help in treacherous waters.

As she continued to stare at the breathtaking view, she couldn't help but remember how Chris had comforted her in the wake of her nightmare. She hadn't wanted or expected to fall in love so easily, so quickly . . . wasn't sure she could handle it at this point in her life. At the same time, she would not deny herself this chance at happiness—he was one of the best things that had happened to her. She just hoped Cora was right about how he felt. And if he did love her, that his family would accept her.

Standing beside the tower viewer, she fished in her pocket for a quarter. She hadn't looked through one of these since she was a kid, and today, she felt a little childish, a little giddy. The roar of the waves and the noise of the wind blocked other sounds as she bent to look through the lenses. She could see the two nearby lighthouses: Spring Point Ledge Light and Ram Island Ledge. No matter how often she stood on this very spot, the rugged beauty and wildness of the place always left her astounded. It felt almost like sacred ground.

As time ran out on the viewer, she straightened. Some noise, barely discernible above the whirlwind of natural sounds, made her cock her head. Maybe practice had ended early and Chris was here already. Smiling, she glanced around but saw no one. She turned back to the bay, gripped the top rung of the fence and leaned back into the wind. The cloudy sky had turned into one solid, steel grey sheet, perhaps heralding the arrival of more snow. Honestly, she wouldn't mind another snowstorm if it meant she could spend it with Chris. And on Christmas Eve—could it get any better?

Arms suddenly entrapped her, shoving her against the fence. Stephen. She shuddered. Her name slithered from his lips in a seductive chant as he pressed his mouth to her ear then uttered, "Sweetheart." Her body recoiled at the endearment that Chris had only recently transformed for her. "I knew you'd be here."

She struggled against him. "Let me go," she grated.

"No. Oh, no," his voice was soft, almost soothing as he bent her over the top of the fence. Large arms wrapped around her, rendering her upper body immobile. "Not until you tell me why. Why?" his voice quivered like a child's who'd had a favorite toy taken away.

She tried to lift a booted foot to kick him, but he wedged his legs between hers and pressed himself along her entire length. To buy time, she asked, "Why what? What are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about." The tone of his voice returned to normal as he peeled his right hand back just far enough so she could see the crumpled piece of paper he clutched. "Protection from Abuse order, Alice?" He wrenched her around. Oh, God, his eyes. That familiar veil had fallen over those blue, blue eyes, rendering them icy with wrath and a streak of something mercilessly possessive. He tightened his grip on her arms, heaved himself against her. She was suffocating, drowning.

"You want me to be arrested? To go to jail? For what? For what _you_ did?" His voice rose in pitch, agitation cascading from him like the bay's waves receding off the rocks.

"What _I_ did?" she echoed.

"If you didn't provoke me all the time, none of this shit would have happened. We could be celebrating Christmas together. But now . . . oh, Alice. Now you've got that big, dumb, bastard hanging all over you." He shook her. Her beret slid off her head and landed on the other side of the fence. "You're supposed to be true to me," he cried. In a quiet place in her mind, she thought she heard his pain. But just as quickly, his voice changed. Hardened. "You're mine." His lips trailed along the line of her jaw, ground against her mouth. The rigid top of the fence dug into her back. His teeth slashed her lips as he pulled her wrists behind her and held them in one big fist. The other hand traced along her body, unzipped her jacket and burrowed beneath her sweater. She felt his fingers crawl up her belly and seize one breast. She twisted away, moaning a strangled cry. "No, sweetheart, don't fight me. Let me love you," he murmured and pulled her against him. She wrenched away and tried to shove her knee into his groin. Instead, the movement propelled her sideways, and together, in a horrid impression of lovers tumbling onto a bed, they crashed down onto the hard concrete, his body landing on hers. Her head bumped the ground just hard enough to knock the wind out of her. "Don't fight me," he pleaded and grabbed a fistful of her hair, glaring at her. As she stared back, his face softened—for a fleeting moment he appeared as he did when they'd first met—concerned, caring, almost sweet. But then he yanked her hair, pulling her head at an odd angle, and pressed himself into her, shoving her legs apart with his knees.

Allie's mind stilled for a moment as she stared at the horror that was Stephen and what he seemed intent on doing to her. "Portland Headlight," she thought, "a white light flashing every four seconds."

* * *

As Chris left the arena, he checked the time on his phone. Practice had gone an extra 15 minutes because Coach ordered suicide drills at the end. "Don't want you to get lazy and fat over the holiday," he'd barked, "five sets." Allie would be waiting for him at the Portland Headlight. As he hopped into his truck, a call came through: Cora. A chill ran down his spine—why was she calling him now? "Hey, Cora. What's up?"

"Stephen didn't show up for his shift this morning," she replied without hesitation. "He knows Allie likes to go to the lighthouse on Christmas Eve."

"You think—" Chris began.

"I don't know, but I'm worried," she cut in.

"I'm heading there now. It should take me about 15 minutes. I'll text you if he's not there and she's alright." He tossed his phone on the passenger seat and raced out of the parking lot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he murmured and slammed a fist against the dashboard.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the Portland Headlight, Chris saw only two cars—Allie's Honda and a familiar looking silver sedan. In one swift move he was out of his truck and running towards the lighthouse. A few snowflakes fell from the sky and landed on his black hair. He wore no hat, only his trucker jacket and fingerless gloves. No one was at the front of the house, so he followed the path around to the back. What he saw scared the living hell out of him.

Allie lay on the ground, her head twisting away from Stephen who was on top of her, his face buried in her neck, one hand grabbing a breast. Her legs flailed. She was trying to push him off, but his big body pinned her down.

He had no plan, no idea of what he might do or how he might deal with Stephen. He thought only about getting the bastard away from Allie. So he ran. He ran down the uneven path, heart pounding, breath uneven, but silent as a predator.

* * *

Allie felt the precise moment when Stephen became aware Chris was nearby; he'd stilled for a split second before rolling off her, scrambling up, and dragging her against him so they both faced the oncoming storm that was Chris.

With one arm wrapped around her neck and the other around her stomach, he hauled her back towards the fence. "Stay away!" he screamed. "I'll throw her over, I swear!"

Allie thought she heard Chris growl, literally, but she couldn't be sure over the roar of the water and the spots appearing in front of her eyes as Stephen's arm pressed her windpipe. Her boots slid on the concrete pathway, parts of it slick with ice, as Stephen continued to drag her towards the fence. Her fingers scrabbled at his arm in a desperate attempt to free herself, but that only made him tighten his grip. He lifted her off her feet and, to her shock, actually attempted to throw her over the fence. She grabbed for the top rail and missed. In a weird out of time moment, as if she was moving in slow motion, she felt her body being upended and soaring through the air. Reality slammed into her when the impact of the rocks pounded her right arm and hip as she landed. She heard Chris howl her name, the wind carrying his voice over her head beyond the rocks and out into the bay.

When she looked up, it was to see Chris and Stephen locked in primitive combat, their bodies swaying side to side as they tried to drive one another in opposite directions. Stephen managed to slam Chris against the tower viewer. Chris seemed momentarily stunned. But just as quickly, he lowered his head and rammed Stephen's midsection, propelling him backwards and down to the ground. He was on top of him in an instant, fists flying, connecting with Stephen's face. They rolled together and down a slight hill where Allie lost sight of them.

She braced a hand on the rocky ledge and pushed herself up. Pain shot across her right shoulder. Her hip screamed when she tried to sit up, but she rose. What Stephen might be doing to Chris forced her to persevere. She limped to the fence, lost her footing once before gripping the top rung to steady herself, and peered across the divide.

Chris had clearly gotten the upper hand, but Stephen did something, some kind of move that threw Chris off him and tossed him backwards. He landed on his right shoulder and elbow—she could hear what sounded like a crack even over the roar of the waves—but he surged up instantly. In that second, he looked up, caught her eye. They stared at one another for what seemed like hours before Stephen rushed Chris, knocking him back against the fence. Allie saw that Chris' right arm hung immobile by his side. But Stephen's movements, too, were sluggish; he was obviously in considerable pain.

Suddenly, Allie heard someone roar Chris' name. She saw Nathaniel rushing toward the combatants. And behind him, Cora, hair flying. "Where was her hat?" wondered Allie stupidly as she swayed slightly. Was she seeing flashing lights? Not from the lighthouse. She shook her head to clear it, but instead, felt more muddled. Something, maybe Nathaniel bellowing, had distracted Stephen. Chris tucked a shoulder into Stephen's midsection and surged upwards. The movement propelled Stephen over the fence and slammed him down on the other side, his back smashing against a jagged rock. As his scream echoed morbidly in her fuzzy brain, she felt as if she couldn't breathe.

Her name on the wind. Hands clutching her arms. Again, those flashing lights that weren't the lighthouse, but brighter now. She looked up. Chris gazed at her with eyes wide, fearful, lips moving. But she could not hear his words . . . or . . .yes, she could hear him, but couldn't understand him. She shook her head but that just made her brain whirl and she felt she would tumble backwards. More hands grabbed her, pulled her over the fence. It was not graceful, but she was finally on even, firm ground. She stared up at solid brown eyes flecked with pain, but here, right in front of her. One hand reached out, tugged her close. And she crumpled against his quaking body, her arms wrapping around him. They slid to their knees. She reached up to cup his face, brush his hair back. His name slipped out of her mouth on a whisper, over and over again.

"Allie. Baby," he crooned, "you OK?"

And her tears fell in silent, wrenching sobs. "You," she hitched out, "are _you_ OK?"

The wind whipped around them. "I love you."

Had she heard that? His head dropped to her shoulder and she felt him shudder in her arms.

Then a hand on her back, another voice, "Allie. Honey, you alright?" She turned towards the sound and blinked. Cora.

"The police are here." Nathaniel. Nathaniel? How . . . but she couldn't voice her thoughts with her head spinning the way it was and Chris slumped in her arms.

* * *

"The Safest Place"

In my heart  
Your love has found  
The safest hiding place  
Inside is a field  
And trees and a lake  
Around is a wall  
No-one from hell could break

In there you'll shine  
In there you will cry  
My heart has been a lonely warrior

Who's been to war  
So you can be sure  
In my heart your love has found  
The safest hiding place

Inside is a stream  
Around is a wall  
No-one from hell could break

In there will shine  
The light of heaven's eye  
There you will cry  
My heart's been a lonely warrior

Who's been to war  
So you can be sure  
Your love's in a sacred place  
The safest hiding place  
My heart has been a lonely warrior before  
Who's been to war  
So you can be sure

Songwriters: Andrew Hale / Helen Adu

The Safest Place lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Performed by Sade

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own any of the music or lyrics quoted in this chapter:

"Love Hate Love" by Alice in Chains (Stephen's theme)

"The Safest Place" by Sade (for Allie and Chris and where they're at by the end of this chapter)

I discovered astoundingly beautiful music when I stumbled across the album, Into Silence by Jane Antonia Cornish. This sound track was playing in my head when I wrote much of this chapter:

When Allie first arrives and is listening to the sound of Casco Bay and thinking about Chris and how her life has been transformed – "Memory of Time"

Aftermath, Chris and Allie embracing as the wind whips around them – "Elegia"

* * *

The long-awaited confrontation between Chris and Stephen—with a different outcome, of course! I was not attempting to recreate the scene between Uncas and Magua exactly. Instead, I wanted echoes of it, something reverberating through time, a long ago memory that lingers, that feeling of déjà vu you get when you go someplace you've never been to but somehow seems familiar.

I believe Chris and Allie's story is almost over—a resolution and, most likely, an epilogue still to come, but this part of their story is ending. Perhaps, like some other FF writers have done, I will check in on them every so often to see what they're up to. (Let me know if you have any interest or ideas about this.)

I apologize for taking so long to post this chapter (I seem to be doing that a lot lately). In addition to the holidays being busy, as is usual for many of us, I've had a few life-changing occurrences (all good!) that have taken up a lot of my time. Chris and Allie, however, would not be denied. I actually had most of this chapter written for several weeks, but had a lot of doubts about how it was turning out. So, special thanks must go to my husband who listened to me read it out loud, offered excellent suggestions and insights, and, ultimately, announced that it was ready to post when I was still unsure.

I thank you all for your patience and hope I haven't lost you. And as always, I welcome your comments and critiques.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

"Never Far Away"

You are the road that I will travel  
You are the words I write  
You are the ocean I will swallow  
You are the wind I'll ride  
You are the cause to keep my head up high  
I'll never say goodbye.  
You gotta know I'll stay beside you  
Right till the day I die

I don't want the chains anymore  
I've already paid  
I don't have to pray anymore  
My soul has been saved

And now,  
Whenever I come, wherever I go  
No, you're never far away, far away  
Never far away

You're the blood that's in my veins  
You're my second skin  
I'm a feather on the wind  
You will breathe me in  
Every heart should have a beat  
Every night a dream  
Every king should have a queen  
Every saint a sin

When I fall hard, you make sure I don't break  
Give me life inside of heavens gates, I know, it's forever.

Forever, forever  
And you taught me how to live like love come first.  
Gave me definition for the words, I know  
That there ain't no space between you and me

I don't want the chains anymore  
I've already paid  
I don't have to pray anymore  
My soul has been saved

Whenever I come, wherever I go  
No, you're never far away, far away  
Never far away

Whenever I come, wherever I go  
No you're never far away, far away  
Never far away

Songwriters: CHRIS CORNELL, BELEWA MUHAMMAD, EZEKIEL LEWIS, TIMOTHY MOSLEY, JEROME HARMON

© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group, OLE MEDIA MANAGEMENT LP

* * *

Someone had bundled them in a blanket as Chris and Allie sat huddled on the promenade. The snow fell, not with gusto and vigor, but with quiet determination. His left arm wrapped around her waist, held her close; her head rested beneath his chin. Ignoring the pain in her right shoulder, her arms encircled his torso where she could feel the heaviness of his breath, the rapid beat of his heart. She kept her eyes closed, her face buried, unable, at the moment, to see what might be happening with Stephen. A jumble of movement around them—booted feet pounding the pavement, hustling here and there, shouts and orders hurling through the wind, voices coming at her in a blur of sounds. And beside them, Cora knelt, stroking Allie's back, whispering that she was safe. Another barrier against the rest of the world. She heard the rumble of Chris' deep voice and Cora's response, but had no idea what they were saying. It was as if her head was under water. But she could have sworn Chris had whispered that he loved her just before he fell into her arms. She held him tighter, heard him grunt between his heavy, labored breathes above her head, his chest rising and falling haphazardly. He hadn't moved his right arm at all. "Chris," she sighed, "you're hurt." She tried to raise her head to look up at him.

"It's OK, sweetheart." His left hand skated up her arm, over her shoulder, pulled her just a tiny bit closer.

"Stephen," she mumbled, "is he . . ."

"They're going to airlift him out," Cora said, "don't think about it, honey."

* * *

Hours later—Allie wasn't sure, but it was probably close to midnight—she lay in a hospital bed. Doctors decided to keep her overnight for observation due to the concussion. The encounter with Stephen had also left her with a mild separated shoulder, a hip pointer, a couple of pulled muscles, assorted bruises, one or two superficial cuts, and probably some bone contusions. She'd been ordered to rest, ice the shoulder, take Tylenol for pain, and undergo physical therapy to regain full range of movement. Physically, she felt she'd been lucky.

She looked at Chris sitting in a chair by her bed. He'd been discharged and his team doctor had already set up an appointment with him for the day after Christmas. But for tonight, he'd insisted on staying with her. And the doctors had OK'd his request. Although she felt badly that he'd be sleeping on a chair, she was also relieved. Too many conflicting and painful thoughts and emotions were running through her tired but overactive brain, and she did not relish being alone. She understood that it all could have ended up shockingly worse for them. Oh, God, she felt so responsible; Chris wouldn't play hockey again this season. In addition to a dislocated shoulder, part of the bone near his shoulder joint had been broken—something the doctors had called a proximal humerus fracture. Thankfully, he didn't need surgery. Instead, they'd put his right arm in a sling to stabilize it, and said he'd require quite a bit of physical therapy. Doctors also thought, like Allie, he might have suffered some bone contusions, which could take months to fully heal. By the time he'd be ready to lace up his skates again, even if the Blades made the playoffs, the season would be over. And yes, while he was young, strong, and in excellent physical condition, there was no guarantee he could come back at his same level of play; and he'd be susceptible to dislocating the same shoulder again.

And Stephen. Her hands crept to her mouth and pressed, as if to keep something imprisoned within. He was paralyzed, most likely permanently, from the waist down—it was the way his back had hit the rocks when Chris had upended him over the fence. While Allie felt horrible that he would never walk again, she'd be lying if she didn't admit to a feeling of relief that he could not hurt her, that she had no need to fear him anymore. She must be a terrible person. No, she _was_ a terrible person to harbor these kinds of feelings.

At that moment, Chris looked up at her. "What is it, sweetheart? You in pain?" His voice was soft in the dimly lit room. Slowly, he sat forward and reached for her arm. "Allie. Baby. Talk to me."

His eyes. Always his eyes, where he could not disguise the emotions that seemed to run deep within him, arrested her. Although, you had to be observant to notice. And Allie had become nothing if not observant over the past couple of years. "I was just thinking about . . . about . . ."

"Stephen?" he finished for her.

Mutely, she nodded. Her hands formed fists against her chin as tears overflowed. He reached up and tugged her wrist, clasped her fingers within his hand. "I know. Don't think about it right now. We're both too wrung out to go there." He looked down and sighed heavily. A jolt of understanding coursed through her. Was Chris feeling guilty over what happened to Stephen, even though Stephen could have hurt them both severely? Irreparably. But instead, Chris had done that to Stephen. Suddenly, her own pain diminished. She reached out, placed a hand on either side of his head, ran her fingers through his hair down to his cheeks and tilted his face up. When his eyes finally met hers, she gazed at the bruise coloring a sharp cheekbone, his swollen lower lip and the various other cuts and scrapes across his countenance and said plainly, clearly, "I love you." He stilled. She thought she saw doubt or . . . something, spark in his eyes. So she took a deep breath and said it again, enunciating each word. "Christopher Uncas Tobias. My Fox. I love you." And to her own astonishment, she felt no fear. Only hope that she hadn't been mistaken; that she'd heard him correctly when they'd trembled in one another's arms on the promenade after all the hurt and fear.

Without a word, he lowered his head and slumped against her belly. His shoulders shook and his good arm clutched her around the waist. Her hands wrapped around him carefully. She bowed her head and kissed whatever she could reach—the crown of his head, an ear, his shoulder, all the while trying to lift his head so she could peer into his eyes again, try to read what was there. But he seemed to be resisting somehow. Finally, tentatively, she whispered, "Chris?" Because she was suddenly unsure of everything, again. And the burden of what Chris had been through, of what he'd done to Stephen, because of her, overtook her once more.

Finally, he lifted his head and gazed at her. "You love me?" he croaked. The tears brimming his dark chocolate eyes trickled out and rolled down his cheeks.

Her own tears fell uncontrollably, but silently. She nodded, brushed his tears away with tender fingers. "I love you. And I'm so sorry for everything I've put you through. I . . ." her voice broke.

He pressed his fingers to her lips and replied slowly, reverently, "Allie. I love you. I love you. My Alice. My angel. My heart."

* * *

Cora stood by the open door of Allie's room then quietly turned away, tears swimming in her eyes and her own heart full to bursting. She walked right into Nathaniel who had crept up soundlessly behind her. They'd both heard Allie and Chris' declarations of love. And now they stood staring at one another. Nathaniel lifted a hand and brushed a stray tear from her face with a gentle thumb, quirked a tiny smile and mouthed, "I love you."

Cora's eyes widened and she grasped his hand, dragging him away, as quietly as she could, to an empty room usually reserved for staff pulling long shifts who needed a short rest. She shut and locked the door with a soft click of the latch. "What did you say, Mr. Poe?" she demanded, wiping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand.

With no hesitation, he said aloud, "I love you. Will you marry me?" She gulped, swayed before Nathaniel caught her in his arms and pulled her against his chest. He buried his face, his fingers, in her long, wavy, dark hair and repeated, "I love you. Marry me." Then he was fishing in his pocket and Cora leaned back. Between his fingers, he held a small, square, black box.

Her big, brown eyes widened as she accepted his offering. She looked from it to him—at his aquamarine eyes that had held her captive from the first day she'd met him. "I love you Nathaniel Poe," she said and opened the box. Nestled in the black velvet depths was a single diamond ring—simple, sparkling like a star in the night sky. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you." He clasped her to him and kissed her, edging her back until they fell together onto the bed. When they came up for air, Cora asked, "What? What brought this on?"

"Oh, well . . . I've been planning this for a few months, you know. I wanted to ask you on Christmas Eve, in front of your fireplace. No one but the two of us. All romantic—flowers, dinner, the works. I didn't mean for us to be in the hospital, fending off cops and reporters." All four of them had given statements to the police, but the reporters had been referred to the Blades PR department, who'd been working overtime ever since they got a call that one of their players had been involved in "some kind of police altercation." "But life is too short to worry about the perfect set up. And damn, things could have gone completely different today," he paused and looked at his watch. "And anyway, it's 11:59, so technically, it's still Christmas Eve." His dimpled grin erased the stress and tension Cora had been feeling over the events of the day and she pulled him to her.

"Door's locked. We've got this room for the next hour, at least," Cora whispered, just before she sealed her mouth to his.

* * *

Allie was released from the hospital late Christmas morning. Chris had stayed with her the entire night, dozing in the chair between visits from nurses who periodically woke Allie up to assess her symptoms. All she wanted to do was take a shower and sleep. The Christmas festivities at Cora's house were postponed until the evening, allowing them all some time to relax and maybe even sleep a bit—it'd been a restless night for everyone.

Cora had driven Allie home and was waiting for Evan to drop Chris off before she headed to her own house to get ready for tonight. "Nathaniel will pick you guys up around 5:30—that OK?"

Allie nodded then put her hand to her forehead.

"Feeling dizzy?" Cora asked.

"A little. Sometimes."

"Dizziness, nausea, headache—not sure how long you'll feel the symptoms, so take it easy. No computer work for a while. If you really feel like crap, take a rest with the lights off. And stop thinking so hard!" Cora joked.

Allie laughed. "Does that mean I can get away with being a dumb blonde?"

Cora snickered, "I could say something really nasty, but I won't, given your current state of health."

"You're such a pal!" Allie giggled then stopped abruptly. "Really, Cora. You . . . if you hadn't found out that Stephen didn't go in to work . . . I don't know . . . I don't know what would have happened yesterday. I . . .I just . . ."

"Shhhh," Cora whispered and pulled Allie into a tight hug. "Don't even. You hear me? Don't even go there." Allie nodded against her neck and sniffed back tears. "And if you feel like total crap, forget about tonight. We can do Christmas when you're feeling better."

As they leaned away from each other Allie's hand slid down Cora's arm. "Cora?" she questioned as she held up Cora's left hand and saw the diamond ring sparkling on her fourth finger. "Is that an engagement ring?"

A huge smile lit Cora's face and she nodded. "He asked me last night."

"Oh, God! I'm so happy for you?!" Allie nearly shouted then hugged her.

"Thank you, honey. After everything that happened yesterday, it wasn't the first thing on my mind, but Nathaniel proposed at the hospital. Such a romantic, right?" Cora laughed.

"At the hospital?" Allie questioned. She pulled back to look at Cora's face.

Cora told her the "G rated" version of Nathaniel's proposal. "I'm sorry we overheard you two," she said, referring to Chris and Allie's declarations of love. "We didn't mean to intrude but the door was open and we—"

"Cora," Allie cut in, "it's alright. I'm glad you know. I don't know what's next for us, but right now, I can't see my life without him in it—whatever that might mean." She paused, took a deep breath before continuing, "and I have no idea what his family will think." Her voice faded.

"Don't worry about that right now," Cora replied, "just get used to the idea of knowing how you feel about one another. And working through all this crap you've been through. One step at a time."

Allie nodded. "You're right. Thank you, Cora." This as she hugged her fiercely. "God, I love you. What the hell would I have done without you?"

"That works both ways, you know."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own the rights to "Never Far Away" performed by Chris Cornell. (I have to apologize: the first time I posted this chapter, I had some incorrect lyrics thanks to at least 2 Internet sites. The revised lyrics are from the liner notes to the CD, Scream, so I know these are the correct ones. They fit Allie and Chris much better, too!)

The search for a song for this chapter was more difficult than I expected. I tried out a few but wasn't completely satisfied. Then I looked back at some old notes I'd written for this story and rediscovered that I'd pegged this song as a possibility for Chris and Allie. There are two recorded versions—one from Chris Cornell's solo album, Scream, the "Timbaland version," and another that is considered the "rock version." The "rock version" is more in the style we expect from Chris Cornell. The Timbaland version is a bit more theatrical, more "produced," but it has this amazing, sort of operatic, dramatic ending that I feel fits this part of the story. I was definitely looking for something powerful and passionate but not saccharine. To me, the Timbaland version fits the mood I was trying to set.

I know Chapter 23 is kind of short, but I think it's the right place to end it. (Not the story, the chapter!) What I realized is that while the confrontation with Stephen was the climax, Chris and Allie still have some things to work out. So, there will definitely be a few more chapters, and possibly an Epilogue. I wanted to make this chapter longer, but each time I tried to extend it, I got bogged down in minutia that did not forward the story (like how they got their cars back from the lighthouse when neither of them can drive right now; does anyone really care? NO!) So, I'm trying to let go of unimportant details. I was also trying to force Allie wait to declare her feelings for Chris until they were at the lighthouse when they were both feeling better, but Allie couldn't wait that long. She kept telling me she had to tell him, and I was like, "Wait until you go back to the lighthouse. It'll be so romantic." And she was like, "No, I need to tell him NOW." And I was all, "But the lighthouse is a special place for you. It'll be more poignant and special." And she's all, "NO FUCKING WAY! He's in pain and I NEED to tell him. NOW!" So I was like, "OK, OK! Stop yelling! You win." (I knew she was serious since she doesn't usually curse that much!) When I let her have her way, things flowed much easier. I didn't expect Nathaniel to propose to Cora at the hospital, either. But those two—geez, they can't get enough of each another! All you Nathaniel/Cora fans out there, that scene was for you! (BrynnaRaven, thanks for the inspiration with FITF and their naughty interlude at work!)

A HUGE, HUGE thank you to MedicineGal815! At my request, she offered to share her medical knowledge, and gave me excellent info on the types of injuries Chris and Allie might have sustained after their altercation with Stephen. I was not looking forward to dealing with medical stuff and doing research. If not for her information, I don't know if I would have ever even started writing the chapter let alone finished it! She also took the time to "beta read" the very beginning of the chapter in its early draft and offered helpful suggestions to improve it. _Any mistakes are solely my own._ (And I will go back and make corrections if necessary—you medical types, please feel free to PM me. And for your info—that "mild separated shoulder" Allie has is a type I.)

Thank you, also, to all you amazing readers! I know life is busy, so I appreciate that you take the time to read and/or review, and/or PM. Your encouragement, and interest in Chris and Allie's story continues to inspire me.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"Promise"

The first time I ever saw you  
You had that faraway look in your eyes  
And heaven's light shined down upon you  
And the whole room filled up with life

Now the cruel world, it's gonna try and change you  
Try to hang you up and mess with your pride  
Now the rich can just try to chain you  
You got to keep your fire burning inside

Promise me  
You won't let them put out your fire  
Put out your fire  
Promise me  
You won't let them put out your fire  
Put out your fire

Now sometimes the world tries to slap you  
And it seems to love watching you fall  
I won't lie to you, it's gonna happen  
You got to pick yourself up and move on

Promise me  
You won't let them put out your fire  
Put out your fire  
Promise me  
You won't let them put out your fire  
Put out your fire

Which star will I be thinking of tonight?  
Tonight  
Which star will I be thinking of tonight?  
Tonight

Promise me  
You won't let them put out your fire  
Put out your fire  
You won't let them put out your fire  
Put out your fire

Promise me  
(Why don't you)  
Promise me  
(Why don't you)  
Promise me  
(Why don't you)  
Promise me  
(Why don't you)

Songwriters: Saul Hudson / Chris Cornell

Promise lyrics © WB Music Corp., Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, Disappearing One, Dik Hayd Music, W B MUSIC CORP, Publisher Unknown,

WB MUSIC CORP OBO DIK HAYD MUSIC

* * *

Allie's hands trembled as she held aloft a snow globe encasing a tiny replica of the Portland Headlight; sparkling confetti snow danced around it. "The lighthouse lights up, too," Chris said. Allie flipped the switch on the bottom of the dark wood base, caught her breath as light shimmered around the little scene. "I got it before everything . . . before everything happened," he stammered, "but if you'd rather not have a reminder . . . if it'll make you think of him . . . and what he did to you . . ." She shifted her gaze to his face. He looked down. So softly she could barely hear him, he rasped, "I let you fall." His gaze flicked to hers, "I promised I wouldn't let you fall." He closed his eyes but not before Allie saw the pain so vividly etched in their depths.

Carefully, she placed the snow globe on the coffee table. Her hand reached up, caressed his cheek. "Oh, Chris. No. No. You did _not_ let me fall. How can you even think that?" Her fingers swept into his hair, urging him to open his eyes, look at her. "My God, you saved me. _You_ are my lighthouse. My safe harbor. It's _you_ I'll think of whenever I look at it." She grabbed a fistful of his thick mane and pulled his face towards hers. The kiss was fiery and sweet all at the same time—filled with the tender love that Allie felt could overtake her. But she promised herself she would not let it. She would not lose herself so completely again—this would be something they would share, not hold over one another. And it would be a beautiful thing.

When they parted, Chris whispered, "You're sure? I mean . . ."

Their foreheads touching, she replied, "I'm very sure." After a moment, Allie took a deep breath. "I have something for you, too, but now . . ."

"What?" he prompted, leaning back.

"I don't know. It seems kind of silly."

"It's from you, angel," he said, "I know I'll love it. And anyway, this stuff . . ." he gestured to the snow globe, "it's nice, but it's not what matters, right?"

"I know," she nodded. She retrieved her gift from under the tree and held it out to him.

When he unwrapped the soft, plush fox dressed in a kid-size Tobias jersey, a miniature hockey stick in its paws, he laughed. "Now I _know_ this doesn't exist in any store—or even online! Where did you find this little guy?" He fingered the hockey stick then rubbed his nose against the fox's black nose.

Allie grinned, her heart jumping at his affectionate gesture. "It's Uncas Hockey Fox! I had the jersey done at the same place I got my favorite tank top," she replied, "then I dressed him up and glued the hockey stick to his paws. I thought he could be your personal mascot."

"I love it! But if I take it on the road with me, I'll never hear the end of it if the guys find out!" Chris chuckled.

"Oh, damn! I didn't think of that," Allie said. After a quick pause, she continued, "Hmmmm, maybe it's really for _me_. To keep me company when you're away." Then she scowled as she remembered Chris would not be making any road trips with his team for the rest of the season. She hated that she was the cause of so much pain and suffering for him. There was nothing he could say that would make her feel like he hadn't sacrificed much more than he ever should have . . . for her.

"Hey," he tilted her chin up, "why the frown?"

She shook her head. "It's all too much, Chris. Everything you went through. Everything you lost—"

Before she could continue, he pulled her close, brushed her forehead with a swift kiss. "I didn't 'lose' anything. I gained _you_ . . . _us_." When she didn't answer he pulled back. "Allie?" Her gaze lingered somewhere past his shoulder. He shook her slightly. "Allie. Look at me." Finally, her focus swiveled back to him. "Did you hear me? I got 'us.' _We_ got 'us.'"

She took a deep breath, nodded, and offered him a tremulous smile.

"Merry Christmas, angel."

"Merry Christmas . . . my very own lighthouse."

* * *

When Allie's doorbell rang at a quarter after five, she and Chris were surprised to find Cora and Nathaniel standing on the threshold, Nathaniel holding a large, obviously heavy, box.

"We thought it made more sense for us to bring dinner to you instead of you guys coming to my place. You mind?" Cora asked.

"Of course not!" Allied exclaimed as she stepped aside to let them in. "What's all this?" she asked, peering over Nathaniel's shoulder to eye the contents of the box.

"'Heat-and-eats!" Nathaniel announced. "Uh . . . where—"

"Kitchen counter."

"Now you're stocked with some pre-made meals for a few days, and you won't have to exert too much effort," Cora said, "or do a lot of cognitive aerobics!"

Allie smiled. "This is amazing! Thank you!"

"A few days? Damn! All this food will last a few weeks!" Chris observed as he began pulling containers and casserole dishes out of the box." One large, lidded bowl held something dark with what looked like chunks of meat frozen in the mix. He tried lifting it but, due to its heft, couldn't without the use of both hands. He looked up at Cora, titled his head.

"Ask Nathaniel about that one," she replied with a quick toss of her head.

"Venison stew," Nathaniel stated as he hauled it out.

"Venison stew?" Chris echoed. "Oh, man, I haven't had that for years! Where'd you get it?"

Nathaniel laughed. "I made it."

"Seriously? Did you get the venison from a local farm?"

"Nope." As he lifted another container out of the box, he smiled his megawatt, dimpled smile, aqua-blue eyes shining, "Hunted it."

Chris stared at him. "You hunt?"

"Flintlock rifle."

"Holy shit! No kidding! That takes a ton of skill. It's like hunting in colonial times."

"Yeah," Nathaniel replied, "ever since I was a kid, with my stepdad and brother. Only way I'll hunt."

"Never would have guessed," Chris said, a new gleam of respect in his eye. Together, they continued unloading an amazing array of dinners from the box.

Later, Evan and Jackie showed up with the promised desserts. The evening was subdued and shorter than they'd originally planned but comfortable and celebratory for Cora and Nathaniel's engagement. After everything was cleaned up and put away, Allie looked at each of them as they sat in her living room drinking coffee and nibbling on cheesecake and Christmas cookies, which was more difficult than she expected with only her left hand and arm fully operational. She guessed she'd be discovering several things that would test her resolve over the next few weeks. "Can I just say," Allie began, " . . . um . . . wow . . . this is . . . this is harder than I expected . . ."

"What is it sweetheart?" Chris asked as he massaged her left shoulder.

"I just want to say thank you. I mean . . . I know it's lame after everything you've all done for me. I don't have words to explain just how lucky I feel that you're all in my life." She shook her head, looked down as a few wayward tears trickled along her cheeks.

Evan rose from his seat and sauntered over to Allie. He squatted, looked into her eyes, grasped her hand and said, "Ain't a thing, Allie. We're friends. We're here for you."

She stared at him, the tears falling more freely now, and squeezed his hand. A chorus of similar sentiments flowed around her and again, she looked at these special people who called her "friend," and felt like the luckiest person alive.

* * *

Allie lay on her bed, eyes closed. No "deep cognitive aerobics" for her, as Cora had phrased it. She wondered if trying to sort out churning emotions counted as "deep cognitive aerobics." It wasn't how she felt about Chris that gave her pause—not at all. She loved him. My God, how she loved him. And he assured her he felt the same way about her. Sometimes it overwhelmed her a little—that someone like him—brave, indomitable, yet so gentle, so caring—could really love her. Because no matter how many times Chris or Cora, or even Nathaniel, told her how strong she was, so often she still felt weak, vulnerable, powerless. Would those feelings ever go away? And now his parents were coming to Portland the day before New Year's Eve—two days from today. She supposed her fears about their reactions to everything . . . to _her_. . . were triggering the sadness and isolation—anxiety really—she'd been unable to shake since Christmas day.

And then there was the specter of Stephen hanging over her. Not fear that he could hurt her physically or even emotionally, more her own sorrow over causing someone else's life to negatively alter so dramatically. Although it was Chris who'd pitched him over the fence, it was Allie's involvement with Stephen that had led up to the entire painful, sordid, hateful affair.

A light knock on her door wrenched her out of her dark thoughts. Chris poked his head in. "Hey, sweetheart. How're you doing? You need anything?" He ambled to her bed and sat down next to her, his left hand behind his back.

"Just resting. Like Cora ordered me to do," she smiled slightly. A shaft of light from the hallway illuminated Chris' chiseled features, still slightly swollen and discolored with bruises. She closed her eyes. Something soft touched the tip of her nose. When her eyes popped opened, it was to see Uncas Hockey Fox rubbing his nose against hers! Laughter bubbled up and she reached out and hugged him.

"Uncas Hockey Fox loves you."

"And I love him," she whispered, staring at Chris over the fox's head. "Stay with me?"

"Always." He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. "Always."

They settled on the bed together as comfortably as they could, Uncas Hockey Fox tucked safely between them.

* * *

Ahnah stared at her son, noting the bruises on his face, and the apparatus strapped across his torso. The Blades team doctor had replaced the sling with a brace to stabilize his right shoulder more securely. She hugged him gently, rubbed her nose against his in the ancient Inuit show of love and affection—a kunik—just like Chris had done with Uncas Hockey Fox and Allie. As Ahnah pulled back, she tucked strands of his hair behind his ears in a familiar gesture—something she'd done countless times when he was younger. Her hands cupped his face. "How are you?" she asked.

His parents had landed about an hour ago and "Ubered" it to Chris and Evan's place. Chris hesitated, looked at her then at his father who stood just behind her. "I'm alright," he replied, "could have been worse."

"You won't be playing hockey again this season," his father stated in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

"No. I won't." He sat on the couch, feeling exhausted even though he'd done virtually nothing all morning. Maybe the combination of trying to figure out how to explain things to his parents, and the emotional scene with Allie yesterday when he'd told her they were visiting, had worn him out. He felt like he'd been running for days without a chance to catch his breath. He looked up at them. "I'm OK with it."

Ahnah sat beside him, lowered her hand onto his and stroked his bruised knuckles. "This girl. This Allie. She means that much to you?"

"Yes."

"We know you have a protective instinct, Uncas. And a gentle heart," Chingachgook added as he sat across from them. "Be sure you're more than her defender, more than a warrior for this woman."

Chris took a deep breath to steady himself. He knew his parents had only his best interests at heart, but he wasn't sure how to explain his overwhelming feelings for Allie—the love that pulsed through him any time he thought of her, saw her, touched her. The need to feel her touch, see her smile, be near her. He wasn't sure how to convey this to his parents so they'd truly understand.

"You know I trust you Christopher. My concern is with Allie. Is she in love with _you_ or is she in love with her 'rescuer?'" his mother queried.

Chris' fatigue must have shown on his face because his father said, "You look tired, son. Get some rest. We'll talk later."

He nodded and rose. "I could use a nap. Either of you hungry?" Allie had given him some of the meals from Cora and Nathaniel to keep at his place.

"We'll raid your refrigerator," Chingachgook replied with a small quirk of his lips, "don't worry about us." He opened the refrigerator door and exclaimed, "Is this venison stew?!"

* * *

An hour or so later, having slept soundly, Chris felt more like himself. Chingachgook sat alone in the living room. "Where's Mom?"

"Went for a walk. Said she needed the cold air. She's already homesick, I think. Sit."

Chris knew his father wanted to have a serious discussion. Not that he was surprised. And not that his mother couldn't be present, but sometimes, a father and a son simply needed to communicate directly with one another. Neither of them were particularly talkative individuals, but when the need arose, they said the necessary things in as few words as possible.

"What can you tell me, Uncas?"

"Dad," he began, "how did you . . . how did you know you loved Mom? You left everything to be with her—your friends, your home . . . your country. You started all over again. To be with her." His father stared at him, like he could see deep into his soul, deeper, into his heart—just as Chris felt he always could. Their gazes held steady. While he couldn't really explain what he felt or why, he knew his love for Allie was not a mistake; he knew he'd found a missing part of himself. Someone with whom he could spend the rest of his life discovering, exploring, loving.

"I knew she was my missing piece," Chingachgook replied.

Chris' eyebrows rose as he met his father's dark, intense gaze. The tranquil confidence that emanated from him always gave Chris courage. "That's it, exactly, Dad. I've never felt anything like this before," he continued, "something in her . . . something I can't explain. It just _is_."

"You are not an impulsive man, although you occasionally behave impulsively. But you usually have your reasons. At least in your own mind. You have both suffered profound pain. Perhaps you recognize that in one another. But at the same time, I know you think deeply about things, Uncas. So, I accept that you love her."

"You do?"

Chingachgook nodded once. "Yes." After a moment he continued, "What else? Something you cannot reconcile, perhaps?"

It was gently stated, but it hit Chris like a blow to the solar plexus. His father was right—there was something else swirling through him—the smoke of smoldering embers. He sighed heavily. "I caused a man to be paralyzed. As much as I hate him for what he did to Allie, he'll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life." He paused. Chingachgook did not interrupt, instead, he remained silent, eyes level on his son's face. "But he'll never be able to hurt her again," Chris declared. He leapt off the couch, turned away from his father. "Maybe it was a fair trade." His left hand settled on his hip and he stared up at the ceiling. "I'm a fucker for thinking that way. It's not how you raised us, Dad. I'm just trying to justify my actions." He turned his head to catch his father's eye. "My actions that changed a man's life for the worse. Forever." It was difficult to accept that he'd caused someone irreparable, life-altering harm. But he'd protected Allie, defended himself. He had no doubt Stephen would have hurt Allie more brutally—raped her, maybe even killed her—if he hadn't shown up. When Chingachgook didn't respond to his confession—which is what it was—a confession, he turned to face him.

"Charges have not been filed yet?"

"No."

"Do you think this man will press charges?"

Chris shook his head. "Not sure," he admitted. And if he did, would a jury side with Stephen when they learned all that had led up to the confrontation at the lighthouse? Chris didn't necessarily want to know the answer to that question. He'd rather Stephen quietly go away somewhere—far away—and never hurt Allie again.

"Do you think you are at fault for protecting your woman? For finding that instant when you had the advantage and took it?" Chingachgook stood, placed his hand on his son's good shoulder. "You may not be at peace with yourself. But know this—you acted heroically. If impulsively. And he can no longer hurt her."

And that, Chris thought, was worth _everything_ — _everything_ he could give for Allie to be safe.

* * *

The concussion symptoms had finally begun to lessen slightly. She still occasionally needed quiet, and dim lighting, but overall, she felt relatively stable with fewer and fewer bouts of dizziness and nausea. She was readying things for Chris and his parents, who were coming over for dessert; they planned to ring in the new year together. She'd bought a few selections from her favorite local bakery and still had a small tin of the cookies she and Chris had made. His parents might enjoy sampling what their son had helped bake.

She arranged all the goodies on a cream-colored Christmas platter—part of a set of dinnerware her mom used to bring out seasonally when Allie was little. Several pieces had broken over time; what remained had been boxed up for at least 10 years. Allie thought this was a good occasion to use them again, and had unearthed four cups, seven dessert plates, and the serving platter. She'd completely forgotten the raised holly pattern embossed on the bottom of each piece. As a child, she would run her fingers over the berries, tracing the delicate convex shape of them. The platter was her favorite with the largest, most detailed design. When she touched the shapes now, she felt that familiar warm, calm, safe feeling spread through her. The same feeling she experienced whenever she looked at her snow globe.

Her expression altered as she remembered how, the day before yesterday, Chris had tried to soothe her agitation after telling her his parents would be flying out to see him—and, ultimately, meet her. She had not handled the situation well.

"Sweetheart, stop worrying. I'm telling you, it'll be OK." Chris had said. When she didn't respond he continued, "They're not ogres."

"Don't you think I know that, Chris?" Allie shot out, "I'm still nervous. Can't I just be nervous without you all over me about it?" The volume of her voice had risen.

Chris stepped back, raised his good arm and said, "Calm down, Allie. I'm just trying to help you feel more relaxed about meeting them."

"Well it's not working!" she retorted and spun away. She expected him to take her in his arms, as he had so many times before. Instead, she heard one of her kitchen stools scrape against the hardwood floor. Turning, she saw him sitting with his good elbow on the counter, forehead resting in his palm, fingers splayed in his hair. He looked drained. Why was she being such a bitch? Effects of the concussion maybe? Or was this the "real her" coming out? His parents would hate her! Teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, she inhaled a deep breath and moved to his side. Caressing his forearm, she said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just . . . I don't know . . . I'm really worried about what your parents will think of me. Of this situation I got you into. Of everything you've given up for me." She leaned her forehead against his temple and repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry." Her fingers wove through his thick, black hair, brushing it off his shoulder and down his back.

He curved his arm around her waist and turned so they were face-to-face. Looking directly into her eyes, he said, "Listen to me, Allie. I'm tired of saying this over and over again. Promise me you'll listen. That you'll get it into your head so it stays there."

She leaned back at his firm, but not harsh, tone and stared into his eyes. Something burned deep within the dark depths. It stunned her. She'd seen anger, vulnerability, pain, selflessness . . . love. When he'd fought Stephen, she'd seen fury with maybe a touch of vengeance. But rarely, if ever, had she seen this bright determination. This, this was more like his "game face," only multiplied a hundred times. Admittedly, his intensity scared her a little, but she tried to keep in mind his advice to never be afraid to say whatever she wanted to him. To be honest with him.

"Promise me," he repeated.

She swallowed. "I promise."

"You did not _get_ me into this situation. You didn't _force_ me to fall in love with you. Damn it, Allie. Don't you see? I love you. I. Love. You." He never raised his voice, but she felt his vehemence. She closed her eyes and bowed until her forehead touched his chin. His arm pulled her flush against his chest. "I love you," he whispered against her ear. "That means I'm here for you. I'll never abandoned you. No matter what."

Her left arm wrapped around his shoulders and she held on for dear life. "I love you so much, Chris. So, so much."

As she placed the last cookie on the platter, she marveled at Chris' patience and understanding. Never had she expected to meet anyone like him. But despite his assurances, she didn't think she'd be at peace until his parents offered their blessings—and doubt about that continued to haunt her. She washed the plates and cups, dried them then arranged them on a Christmas tray, the snow globe nearby. Leaving everything on her kitchen counter, she sat on the couch and waited.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I do not own the rights to "Promise." I only recently discovered this song on an amazing Chris Cornell limited-edition boxed set. Both Allie and Chris are trying to move on from these awful events. It's so easy to feel knocked down, hurt, and like it's all too hard to move forward and try to live a happy life. I think "Promise" captures the encouragement, support, and love they are offering one another.

I don't own the rights to Uber.

Once again, I must apologize for taking so long to post. I struggled with this chapter (as it seems I have with so many others), altering scenes, moving sections around, going back-and-forth with myself about what advanced the story and what was just superfluous, trying to clarify the timeline (which I'm still not sure I did). I almost posted a half-assed chapter a couple of weeks ago. A PM from a reader saved me from myself!

So, huge thank you to Conbird who PMed me to ask how the chapter was progressing. Kind soul that she is, she offered thoughtful and thought-provoking insights and ideas to my many questions over the events in Chapter 24. One that I found especially beautiful was the idea that Chris may have felt like he let Allie "fall" (after promising her he never would) when Stephen tossed her over the fence at the lighthouse. That, combined with his guilt over the harm he caused Stephen (asshole though he is), allowed Allie to be strong and support Chris. Maybe that deepened their relationship. Maybe it showed a tiny bit why Chris fell in love with her. In LOTM, we see so little of Uncas and Alice that I have to confess, sometimes I wonder why he fell in love with her. The type of person he was, there just _had_ to be more to Alice than what we saw. Which I think is one of the reasons why so much FF is about these two—while we love their attraction, we're also curious about what exactly the attraction _was_ (beyond the obvious physical ones, of course!).

Another big thank you to MohawkWoman who helped me break through writer's block with this chapter early on. Aside from listening to my grumbling (OK, my bitching!), she offered several ideas that helped propel me forward: the Christmas gifts, Cora and Nathaniel bringing premade dinners to Allie's house, the idea of Nathaniel being a hunter and making venison stew! (Which I think might be the "funnest" idea of all!) When I did some research into hunting in Maine, I discovered there is a muzzleloader season—so I couldn't resist making Nathaniel a "muzzleloader hunter!"

 **CORRECTION:** Thank you, BrynnaRaven, for setting me straight about which longrifle Nathaniel used in LOTM. He used a Pennsylvania Rifle not a Kentucky Rifle, as I had stated in my original author's note. (And "booooo" to the internet for misinformation regarding Nathaniel's rifle in LOTM!). I liked the idea of channeling "LOTM Nathaniel" a bit more into "BDL Nathaniel." Chris' admiration of his skill echoes what I think Uncas felt for his brother in LOTM, as evidenced when he stepped aside so Nathaniel could take the shot to kill the elk.

As I always say, you never know what will pull you through and get the creativity flowing again! Conbird and MohawkWoman, you are my Chapter 24 heroes!

Kunik:

"David Joanasi, information officer of Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami, a group representing the Inuit, says he grew up with this custom in northern Canada.

'When you're an infant and a little kid, your parents and grandparents and older siblings sniff you and rub your face with their nose.'

When partners come home at night they might share a kunik to smell each other and nuzzle. There are scent glands in the cheeks, and rediscovering their smell this way is intimate and loving."

From: "An 'Eskimo Kiss' is a Kunik, and Maybe Not What You Think" (southcoasttodaydotcom, New Bedford, MA).

When I read about this, Ahnah just had to do this to her son, especially after all the trauma. And as I made changes to the chapter, I knew it was something Chris had to do to Uncas Hockey Fox and Allie! It's such a sweet, beautiful show of affection.

Thank you, readers for sticking with me—if I haven't lost you yet. Next chapter, we'll see Chingachgook, Ahnah, and Allie meet for the first time. Then probably one more chapter or an epilogue. I do have a few ideas for one-shots so we can check in with these two and find out what they're up to after things settle down.

As always, your comments/reviews/thoughts/insights are welcome!


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Sunshower"

Dark as roses and fine as sand  
I feel your healing and your sting again  
Hear you laughing and my soul is saved  
On forgotten graves you cry

Crawl like ivy up my spine  
Through my nerves and into my eyes  
Cuts like anguish or recollections  
Of better days gone by

But it's all right  
When you're all in pain  
And you feel the rain come down  
Oh it's all right  
When you find you way  
Then you see it disappear  
Oh it's all right  
Though your garden's gray  
I know all your graces  
Someday will flower  
Oh oh in a sweet sunshower  
In a sweet sunshower

Eyes like oceans so far away  
A feather trail to a better way  
Worried mornings turn into days  
Then into worried nights  
But it's all right

When you're all in pain  
And you feel the rain come down  
Oh it's all right  
When you find you way  
Then you see it disappear  
It's all right  
Though your garden's gray  
I know all your graces  
Someday will flower  
Oh oh in a sweet sunshower  
Oh in a sweet sunshower

In the sweet sunshower  
In the sweet  
Sweet  
Sweet  
Sunshower

I know all your graces  
Someday will flower  
In the sweet  
In the sweet sunshower  
And it's all right  
All you'll be you are today  
Are today  
It's all right  
All you'll be you are today  
Are today  
Are today  
Are today  
Are today  
Are today

By Chris Cornell

Sunshower lyrics © EMI Music Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Fox Music, Inc

* * *

Allie opened her front door. Chris stood behind his parents; his smile reassured her as she greeted them. "Hello. Come in, please!" She stepped aside and they filed into the entry hall. Chris brushed his lips across her forehead as he passed. "Let me take your coats."

"I've got them," Chris interjected. "I guess this is the 'formal' meeting, so I should be a little formal, eh? Mom, Dad, this is Allie. Allie, my parents, Ahnah and Chingachgook."

"I'm really happy to meet you . . . 'formally,'" Allie said with a tiny smile.

"As we are to meet you," Ahnah replied and held out her hand. They shook. Allie noted Ahnah's firm, strong grip—not a surprise.

Chingachgook's mouth lifted into a curiously warm smile as he took Allie's proffered hand in both of his, squeezed gently. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Allie. Thank you for having us over." His hold had a surprising effect on her—she felt protected and safe. Maybe even accepted.

"Of course," she replied. As they arranged themselves in her living room—Ahnah and Chingachgook on the couch, Chris in a nearby chair—Allie stood a bit awkwardly and said, "I've got coffee on, unless you'd like something else?"

"Do you have green tea?" Ahnah asked.

"I . . . I think so. I'll check." She dashed out, longing to escape what felt like Ahnah's scrutiny. But maybe that was in her own head. And maybe she was totally off base with her impressions of Chingachgook, too. Damn, she was having a hard time figuring all this out. As she opened a cabinet, three small, cardboard boxes tumbled out; one bonked her on the head on its way down. "Shit," she hissed as she tried to catch them. Of course, they all ended up on the floor. Three boxes of tea and not one of them green tea. She rolled her eyes.

Just as she bent to pick them up, Chris entered the kitchen. "Need some help?" he asked.

She plopped onto the floor and looked up at him.

"You alright?"

"Just being a klutz," she replied, "and no green tea. I shouldn't be surprised, I guess. I don't think this is going to go well, Chris."

He knelt beside her, picked up two of the boxes in one hand while she grabbed the third one. "They just got here, sweetheart. Give them a chance." He deposited the tea on the counter. His fingers touched her cheek, smoothed her hair back then slid to her arm. "Relax. Just be yourself, eh."

She looked up at him, felt tears forming. "What if being myself isn't good enough? Sometimes I'm not even sure who 'myself' _is_ , lately," she whispered.

Sitting down next to her, he crooned, "Oh, baby," and wrapped his good arm around her. He pulled her against his warm, strong body, the box of tea pressed between them. "You're fine, sweetheart. It'll all be alright. We're both still a little messed up from everything that's happened. But things'll be OK." He kissed her forehead and gathered her close.

With a few deep breathes, she collected herself. "Let me see what kind of freaking tea I _do_ have in this house."

After Ahnah assured her that caffeine-free peppermint tea would do fine, Allie, with Chris' help, brought out the dessert platter and beverages. "These are the cookies Chris and I baked together," she announced.

"They look delicious," Chingachgook said, and immediately reached for one of the sugar cookies. He bit into it. "Mmmmm," he hummed, eyebrows lifting in appreciation.

Ahnah sipped her tea then bit into a cookie. "Very good," she stated.

"Bet you didn't know I had it in me, eh?" Chris joked.

"Allie," Ahnah said, catching her by surprise. "Be honest. How much did he really do?"

The little stutter her heart took when Ahnah addressed her settled, and she replied, "Oh . . . um . . . actually, he helped a lot. He decorated most of the sugar cookies and measured and stirred and set the timer. He even helped cook lasagna at my friend's house, and she really made him work . . ." She took a breath. "Stop babbling," she admonished herself silently. "So, um . . . yeah, he's really good in the kitchen."

Chris cleared his throat. Allie realized her double entendre and could feel the blush crawl across her cheeks, especially as her mind shot back to their various affectionate encounters in her kitchen. "It was fun," Chris jumped in. "Nice way to spend an afternoon." He winked at Allie.

The night moved on with light chatter and small talk. Allie wondered when Chris' parents would start asking questions about her past. She felt like a kid in class waiting to give an oral report and just wanting it to be over. "Can I get you more coffee or tea?"

"No thank you," Ahnah said. Chingachgook shook his head, patted his stomach, and smiled. Allie began gathering the cups. "Here, let me help," Ahnah picked up the platter. Together, they carried the empties into the kitchen. "This is lovely," Ahnah said, as she placed the Christmas platter on the counter next to the sink. She ran her fingertips over the raised pattern, her lips turned up in a smile.

Allie watched her, surprised and pleased at the familiar gesture. "It was my mother's. We used to have a whole set, but a lot of the pieces broke over the years. This is the first time in ages I've brought them out."

Ahnah turned to her, reached out and touched her arm. "Chris told me about what happened to your parents. I am so sorry. I'm sure that was quite a shock," she said.

"Thank you," Allie murmured, "I still miss them."

"You always will, but you move forward. There is nothing else to do but move forward."

Allie nodded, her gaze shifting to the window where her wan reflection stared back at her; a stark contrast next to Ahnah's dark, vibrant profile.

"He also told me a little about your former situation." Allie inhaled sharply, feeling a little unsettled at the sudden shift in the conversation. At the same time, she was relieved that the moment had finally arrived when she'd face this formidable woman. She looked down at the sink before turning a wary gaze to Ahnah. "It sounds like you survived an extremely difficult and painful time with your previous boyfriend. I can appreciate that." Allie waited for the "but" she was sure would follow. "My son has been through some difficulties as well. You know what happened when he was a child?"

"Yes." Allie closed her eyes against the memory of Chris' painful recounting of the incident with the bullies at his school.

Ahnah continued, "I love my son. Very much. I don't want to see him hurt ever again. He loves you, Allie. Of that, I have no doubt. I won't put you on the spot tonight by asking if you love him. But I will ask you to think about something very carefully." Allie sucked in a breath and looked at her. "I understand that the situation you found yourself in was not an easy one to get out of. Many women don't ever escape." Allie noticed a softening of Ahnah's expression, as if she was remembering something, or someone. It vanished so quickly Allie wasn't sure she'd actually seen it. "I know how easy it can be to think you are in love with someone who rescues you from an intolerable, painful, frightening situation," she continued, "especially when they've sacrificed so much, as I think my son has for you." Allie swallowed, knowing the truth of Ahnah's words. She forced herself to look directly into her intense dark eyes. "So please, examine your feelings closely. If you think you love my son, be sure that you truly love _him_. When he gives himself to someone, he gives himself entirely. No holding back."

As intimidating as Ahnah seemed, Allie appreciated the fierce love and protectiveness she obviously felt for Chris. And it moved her to know that he was loved so deeply and completely by his parents. Allie shored up some courage, her gaze never leaving that of this strong, devoted woman. "I understand your concerns," she began, "in fact, I've asked myself those same questions. And believe me when I say that I know just how much Chris has sacrificed for me."

Ahnah folded her arms, waiting.

"I think . . . I think maybe . . ." Allie closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the sink as a realization burst inside her. When she looked again at Ahnah, the woman had a concerned look on her face and reached out to grasp Allie's arm. "I think that's what got me into a bad situation in the first place. I was looking for a hero. Someone to throw me a safety net after my parents died. Stephen became that safety net for me. Or at least that's what I thought."

"And now? Are you looking for another hero?"

"No. No, I don't think so. You said you wouldn't ask me, but I will tell you. I love your son. And I promise you, I will do my best not to hurt him. He means too much to me. And he is the most amazing man I have ever met." She held Ahnah's gaze, trying to communicate her resolve and commitment.

Ahnah stared back and replied, "I'm trusting you to know your feelings, Allie. Please be sure of yourself. And please, _please_ take care of my son."

"Hey, it's almost midnight!" Chris said as he and Chingachgook strolled into the kitchen. In unison, Allie and Ahnah turned to them.

Allie wondered if her smile was a bit strained. She felt Ahnah squeeze her arm gently then let go. "Should we watch the ball drop?" Ahnah asked.

Chingachgook smiled at them both. Slipping his arm around Ahnah's shoulders, he replied, "Best way to know when it's midnight, right? At least on the east coast."

"I have some sparkling cider . . . well, for Chris and me. There's a bottle of champagne, too, if you'd prefer," she directed her comment to Chingachgook and Ahnah.

"Sparkling cider will be fine for all of us," Chingachgook replied. "Shall I get it?"

"Yes, thank you," Allie said as she pulled champagne flutes from a cabinet. In the living room, they turned on the TV. As the countdown began, Chingachgook popped the cork and poured the cider. They clinked their glasses together. "Happy New Year," Allie said.

"To the best of times ahead," Chingachgook replied.

"To the best of times ahead," Chris and Ahnah echoed.

Without hesitation, Chingachgook turned and kissed his wife. Chris put his glass down, pulled Allie to him and kissed her gently. "Happy New Year, love," he whispered.

"Happy New Year, my sweet Fox," Allie murmured.

* * *

"I like her, Ahnah," Chingachgook said later as he and his wife prepared for bed at a nearby B&B. The house Chris and Evan rented had only two bedrooms and they hadn't wanted their son, with his injuries, to sleep on the couch.

"She seems kind. Sweet. I just hope she knows her mind. And her emotions," Ahnah replied. "It's not easy to move on to a healthy relationship after what she's been through."

"True. But I think she is ready."

"What makes you so sure?"

Chingachgook shrugged. "It's the same kind of feeling I had when I decided to accept your . . . shall we say, 'terms,' when I asked you to marry me."

"You made that decision pretty darn fast."

"And look where we are now, my love," he replied as he took Ahnah in his arms and began slowly swaying and singing. "Baby it's you, you are my sunshine. I am your guiding light, just like a ship out in the night, returning for a light. I really love you. And it's really real, the way I feel. Look into my eyes and you'll realize . . . it's really, really, really, real. Oh, you're my woman . . . "

"You know you get me every time with that song."

Chingachgook simply smiled and continued singing to his lovely wife.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I do not own "Sunshower" by Chris Cornell

I'm not sure if this is the right song for this chapter but I think it's the right song for Chris and Allie. I love the line: "All you'll be you are today" I think it's particularly fitting for these two because they are maybe a little broken right now, but they will bloom and shine . . . as we all sometimes get a little broken, like flowers trampled underfoot. But we all have amazing capacities within us. And for all of us: "I know all your graces/Someday will flower/In the sweet sunshower." What a beautiful sentiment.

I do not own "You're My Woman" from the album, Tupelo Honey by Van Morrison – the song Chingachgook sings to his wife at the end of the chapter. Whenever I heard this song, I envisioned him singing it to her. And every time I listen to the album, Chingachgook pops up in my head. I have no idea why! My only conclusion is that this must be his favorite album. 😉

So, a short chapter, but a necessary one, I think. I'm not sure Ahnah is completely convinced about Allie's feelings for Chris, but I think Chingachgook will work his magic so she understands that Allie is truly committed.

A few of you wondered if Allie was "holding back" her love for Chris. I don't see her as "holding back" so much as being true to herself and her own identity. I think sometimes people get so intense (and maybe even obsessed) with someone they love (or think they love) that they lose themselves in the relationship, or sacrifice who they are for the sake of keeping the relationship together. I don't think that's particularly healthy—or that jealousy and possessiveness are necessarily indicators of how much someone loves another. I think they reveal insecurities. Which we all have (sometimes more strongly than at other times)—it's why I think our emotions can fluctuate and spin out of control unexpectedly. One day we might feel jealous and another day, a similar situation might not bother us. We humans are a complicated bunch, but I find it interesting to explore the greys, the contradictions, the inconsistencies.

As always, thank you for reading, commenting, PMing. You readers and writers are the best. You keep me going!


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

The life is the red wagon rolling along  
The life is the red wagon keeps the feet upon the ground  
The life is the red, is the red, oh, it's no big deal  
But when the feet are dragging you pull for me  
And I pull for you, you pull for me and I pull for you

The life is the red wagon, simple and strong

By Jane Siberry

From "The Life Is the Red Wagon" lyrics © BMG Rights Management

* * *

Allie sat in a booth at Becky's Diner waiting for Ahnah to arrive. When Ahnah had asked Allie to meet her for brunch a few days after New Year's Eve, she hadn't known what to think. Chris had assured her his mother just wanted to get to know her better. She clasped her hands in her lap, remembering the last time she was here. Hopefully, a repeat of "The Great English Muffin Fiasco," or something similar, wouldn't occur. She glanced at the door then looked around at the seasonal decorations, at the fresh snow that blanketed everything outside—it was just enough to cover the Christmas Eve snowfall that had turned dirty and grey. These things comforted her somewhat; she realized this time of year, no matter what else may happen in her life, would always remind her of Chris. A wistful smile creased her face.

"Allie. Thank you for meeting me," Ahnah said as she approached the booth and sat down.

Allie's fingers fidgeted beneath the table. "Hello, Ahnah. Of course." It wasn't like she felt she could've refused. Once Ahnah was settled, Allie took a deep breath and mustered some courage to ask the question that had been plaguing her. "Can I ask . . . um . . . why . . ."

"Why I wanted to meet you?" Ahnah filled in as she removed her gloves and set them on the bench beside her. She looked at Allie. "Honestly? Chingachgook talked me into it."

Allie sat back, wondering at her feeling of disappointment.

The waitress who stopped at their table and handed them menus was not the one who'd had the hots for Chris. This woman was older, her expression that of someone who'd pretty much seen it all and didn't much care for what she'd seen. She took their beverage orders: coffee for Allie, green tea for Ahnah. At least Ahnah would finally get her green tea, Allie thought. Then chided herself for being uncharitable. It wasn't Ahnah's fault that Allie was not much of a tea drinker. As they stared at their menus, Allie speculated about why Chingachgook had "talked" Ahnah into meeting her. What did he expect to accomplish? Did _he_ like Allie? Did he _not_ like Allie? Her mind spun trying to sort out her conflicting thoughts.

After their beverages arrived and they'd ordered (Allie avoided anything with "muffin" in the name or description), Allie felt Ahnah's eyes on her. She looked up to meet the unrelenting gaze. "Do I make you nervous, Allie? Beyond the fact that I'm Chris' mother."

Allie blinked, thinking she better get used to Ahnah's directness. Her immediate impulse was to deny the supposition. But why bother? Ahnah was right. And Allie was tired of keeping things hidden. Of burying her fears. So instead, she admitted to at least some trepidation. She nodded, "A little."

"Why?"

"Well," Allie began then hesitated. She seized her coffee cup and took a large gulp. Her eyes watered as the steaming liquid scalded her tongue. She swallowed, coughed, and did her best not to spit coffee out of her mouth—or nose. What _was_ it with her and this restaurant that she couldn't seem to have a meal without some sort of embarrassing incident? Napkin pressed to her lips, she cleared her throat, "Excuse me."

"Are you alright?" Ahnah asked.

"I'm fine. Coffee was hotter than I expected." She grabbed her glass and took several sips of water, cleared her throat again. Just as she was about to speak, the waitress arrived with their meals. Once everything was delivered and they were alone again, Allie looked at Ahnah's expectant face and continued, "I know what Chris did for me. What he gave up for me. I know I can never repay him. And . . ." Allie hesitated, unsure how to bring up this topic.

"And?" Ahnah coaxed. When Allie remained silent, she stated, "Don't be afraid to share your thoughts with me, Allie. I prefer you be honest instead of trying to figure out what you _think_ I want to hear."

She appreciated the echo of Chris' similarly encouraging statement. So, she took another deep breath and continued, "I'm guessing I'm not the kind of woman that you or your husband want for your son."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, first of all, I'm white—"

"Allie," Ahnah interrupted her, "if you make my son happy and love him like I think he should be loved, I wouldn't care if you were blue, green or purple."

Allie's lips curved into a half smile. "Thank you for saying that. After what he went through, I wasn't sure how you'd feel."

"Well, you know we don't live on the Rez. We live in town. And all my children went to the local public school. Chingachgook and I taught them about their heritages and to take pride in who they are. I'm a traditional Inuit dancer. It's one way I keep my heritage alive for me and my children. In fact, Chingachgook and I met at a Gathering of Nations event."

Allie nodded. "Chris has mentioned that."

Ahnah continued, "We are, of course, proud of who we are, and from whom, and where we come from. But we also understand that our children live in a white world. And we don't want them to be alienated from that or feel some kind of 'separateness.' They deserve all this world has to offer, just like anyone else. And we've raised them, hopefully, to know the difference between what is good and right, and what isn't—in both the Indian world and the white world—for lack of better terms. These were not easy choices for us, but parents of Indian children make these decisions all the time."

Some of the tension eased out of Allie as she watched this woman speak. She could see how fiercely protective she was of her family—and understood, perhaps, where Chris' own protective instinct came from. But she also saw an acceptance of things that were different from her own experiences, her own views . . . things that were out of her control. She took a deep breath and said, "If I were you, I would wonder about me. I know . . . I know my past situation doesn't give you confidence in me, or my judgement." When Ahnah remained silent Allie continued, "Chris speaks of you and his father and siblings often. Always in glowing terms. And now that I've met you, I understand why." Allie cleared her throat again. "You are, obviously, a strong woman. Someone who wouldn't let anything—or anyone—hurt you or your family. Or anyone you love. So, I understand your apprehensions about me. And I truly want to be the best _me_ —the best version of me—that I can. For Chris. For myself." Allie stopped. Now that she'd basically laid herself bare to this woman, she didn't know what else she could say or do to convince her that she truly loved Chris for who he was, not what he'd done for her.

"When I was a teenager," Ahnah cut into Allie's thoughts, "my best friend and I swore we'd never let a guy come between us. And for a long time, none did. We were close, Isabel and me. More like sisters. We'd dated, but neither of us had had a serious boyfriend. Until Frank discovered Isabel."

"Frank?"

"We were sophomores, he was a senior. And I admit, he was a good-looking guy. Tall, dark brown, wavy hair, bright blue eyes. Played soccer. Popular, of course. Personally, I didn't trust him. But then, I rarely trusted the popular kids—my own preconceived notions at that time. For whatever reason, he started paying attention to Isabel. She was . . . well, she was a really sweet girl who always tried to make everyone happy. We used to ground each other—I'd remind her how to say 'no,' and she'd remind me to be a little more careful of other people's feelings."

When Ahnah hesitated, Allie asked, "What happened?" Although, she had a sinking feeling she knew how this story might go.

"You can probably guess. Isabel was enraptured. Totally under his spell. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. She started spending more and more time with him. We didn't get together like we used to. And usually, her bruises weren't visible. But one time, she had a black eye. She made up some kind of excuse—I don't even remember, now, what it was. But I started wondering, and I confronted her one day. I outright asked her if Frank was beating her up."

"What did she say?"

"She denied it. But what really hurt and confused me was that she got angry. At me. She said I wouldn't understand what she had with Frank. And she couldn't be friends with me anymore. That I should just leave her alone."

Obviously, this still pained Ahnah. Her eyes told their own story. "And did you? Stay away?"

Ahnah breathed deeply before answering. She looked directly at Allie and said, "Unfortunately, I did."

"Was she . . . is she . . ." Allie couldn't finish her sentence. Too many ugly scenarios swirled around in her head. Scenarios that could have been hers if not for the unrelenting love, support, and friendship of the people around her.

"I don't really know. One day, she stopped coming to school. I tried calling her. My mother tried to contact her mother, but no one ever answered our calls. I even went to her house, but her mother wouldn't let me in. Said to leave them alone. That they'd be moving in a couple of months, anyway."

"She wouldn't let you in? But why? You were such good friends."

"I think it was a combination of things. Her mother was not thrilled that Isabel's best friend was Inuit, but she tolerated me. There are so many of us up there we're hard to avoid. And I think that maybe . . . maybe her mother was ashamed of the whole situation. For all I know, Isabel might have become pregnant. But . . ." Ahnah shrugged.

"You never heard from her again?"

Ahnah shook her head. As she lifted her cup, Allie saw Ahnah's hand tremble ever so slightly, and her heart opened. "I like to think that maybe Isabel found a better life in a new place. But I always wished I had done something to help her."

"You were young, Ahnah. I don't know how much you could have done."

"I should have told someone my suspicions. I should have insisted that she stop seeing him. But in the end, I think I was too afraid of what I might unleash. And the dumbest thing of all was that I didn't want to embarrass Isabel. Can you imagine? I was worried about embarrassing her!" Ahnah shook her head in disgust and set her teacup down.

Allie understood those feelings—the sense of guilt that lingered, even after all these years. Thinking you could have, should have, done more, but didn't or couldn't. She reached out and captured Ahnah's hand that still clutched the teacup. "She would have had to be ready to help herself, too," she said quietly.

Ahnah looked up at Allie, obvious surprise on her face. After a moment, her expression softened into a genuine smile. On New Year's Eve, Allie had felt a smidgeon of the warmth she knew this woman harbored. Now, as she looked at Ahnah's beautiful, smiling face, she experienced it full force—bestowed on her. She breathed an inward sigh of relief as she realized that as strong and formidable as Ahnah was, she was not perfect; she had her own doubts and demons. Just like Allie. Just like everyone.

Allie let go of Ahnah's hand and continued eating her meal. "So, could you tell me about any antics Chris got into when he was a kid? He told me he caused that grey streak in your hair," Allie ventured. And so, the morning progressed with Ahnah ratting Chris out, and Allie confessing to a few grey-hair inducing incidents in her own childhood.

* * *

That evening, as Allie lounged on her couch watching an old movie, Chris texted her.

Chris: You still in one piece?

Allie: _[laughing emoji]_ You're a funny guy. Yes, still in one piece.

Chris: Told you she doesn't bite. Usually. _[winking emoji_ _]_

Allie: But you didn't tell her I do! _[winking emoji]_ LOL

Chris: Because that's TMI for my mom!

Allie: _[shocked emoji]_

Chris: _[smiling emoji]_ I love you. _[3 emojis blowing kisses]_

Allie: _[eye roll emoji]_

Allie: ❤️❤️❤️ I love YOU! ❤️❤️❤️

* * *

They lay in bed, Ahnah reading a book and Chingachgook listening to a podcast on his phone. Ahnah set her book aside and tugged the sleeve of Chingachgook's pajamas. He removed his earbuds. "I think you're right," she said.

Chingachgook's eyebrows shot up. "About?"

"Allie. I think she truly loves Christopher. And she's wiser than I expected."

"Ah," Chingachgook replied, smiling. "So, it was good to meet her today?"

"Yes. I supposed I was being a little protective. I don't want to see Christopher hurt. His feelings run deep. He's sensitive."

"Yes, but also strong. He is aware of his abilities and capacities. He's wise, like his mother."

"Strong, capable, and loyal. Like his father."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I do not own "The Life is the Red Wagon" by Jane Siberry. The lyrics to this song are "simple and strong" but very meaningful, I think. It reminds me of the famous William Carols Williams poem, "The Red Wheelbarrow." So short, so simple, but heavy with nuance and meaning; I think Jane does something similar in this song. It just pulls together (pardon the pun) so many things—childhood memories of when you (hopefully) felt safe and secure, the idea of taking turns pulling for each other when things get tough or you think you just can't go another step. I thought the refrain of the song fit this chapter.

A HUGE "thank you" to Mohawk Woman, who despite a busy schedule, took time to "beta read" Allie and Ahnah's meeting at Becky's. I really needed an informed opinion about how I portrayed the decisions Ahnah and Chingachgook made about raising their children. I certainly have no experience or firsthand knowledge of what it's like to be the parent of an American Indian child, but I tried very hard to imagine how I might feel—or at least how Ahnah and Chingachgook might feel. And I also thought about Chingachgook, in LOTM, sending both Nathaniel and Uncas to Reverend Wheelock's school so they would learn about the white world. I wanted to echo that idea here.

Well, one more chapter to go plus the epilogue! I tried to fit everything into this chapter so it would be the final one, but it just wasn't happening. (I also tried to keep the story to 25 chapters—but that didn't happen either! Obviously!) I rearranged scenes several times, added things in, took things out, etc., but it was not flowing well. So, I gave in; as soon as I surrendered to the idea of adding one more chapter and moving a scene to the epilogue, it felt like things fell into place. As Mohawk Woman reminded me, sometimes the story writes itself. While the next chapter is, basically, written, the epilogue isn't finished. I think I'd like to post them at the same time, but readers, let me know if you'd rather read the final chapter before I finish the epilogue and I'll post Chapter 27 next week.

[I was trying to insert the emojis in Chris and Allie's txt conversation so that you could actually make out which ones they were, but they kept coming out too small. If anyone knows how to get them to show up bigger, please PM me!]

As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

It was a Sunday in late February. A week ago, a nor'easter had buried the entire state in a foot or more of snow, and things were finally beginning to thaw out. The day was sunny and mild—one of those rare February days that reminds everyone what spring feels like, and that it will arrive, eventually.

Chris and Allie sat at her kitchen counter eating a light breakfast. They were healing rather well—Allie had been back at work for about a month, and both of them had been undergoing physical therapy. Although Chris' arm was no longer in a brace, he still didn't have full range of motion and had to use it carefully. Since he wasn't traveling with the team, he often stayed with Allie when Evan was on the road. Ahnah and Chingachgook had gone back home two weeks after New Year's, with a promise from Allie to attend the Tobias anniversary/family reunion in June. "You're in," Chris had told Allie, "not that I ever had any doubts."

"I wasn't so sure there with your mom at first. But . . . you have wonderful parents, Chris."

"Yeah. I do."

Now Allie looked at the man sitting across from her. "So, I was wondering," Allie began.

Chin resting on his hand, Chris looked up from his phone. "That sounds dangerous," he said. Allie threw her rolled up napkin at him and laughed when it hit the bridge of his nose. "Hey, you'll pay for that!"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!" He rose from his stool and sauntered around the counter. He embraced her from behind, kissed the nape of her neck. His lips traveled up and gently tugged her earlobe.

Allie murmured, "You're going to make me forget what I wanted to ask you."

"Mmmmm hmmmmm," Chris hummed and swiveled her to face him. He rubbed his nose against hers.

She grinned and wrapped her arms around him. "I love that." They hugged silently for a few minutes before Allie leaned back and said, "Seriously, Chris. I have a request."

His expression sobered. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"We never made it to the cemetery on Christmas Eve. Would you come with me today?"

Chris pulled her close, and with his lips against her hair, murmured, "Absolutely."

* * *

Although the cemetery grounds were still covered in a pristine blanket of white, the wind had created snow drifts, and warmer temperatures over the last day or two had shaved a few inches off the initial snowfall. The usual hush of a cemetery was even more pronounced. Chris carried a small, lightweight shovel over his good shoulder as he and Allie trampled through the ankle-deep snow. They stopped at a simple gravestone adorned with a solitary Celtic cross. The two names, and birth and death dates were partially obscured. Chris slid the shovel off his shoulder and together, they pushed snow away from the stone. Allie knelt, pressed her fingertips to her lips then touched each name. Chris drifted to his knees and wrapped an arm around her. Neither of them spoke—the silence its own comfort. After a few moments, Allie rested her head on Chris' shoulder, and he deposited a light kiss on her crown. "I wish they'd been able to meet you," she whispered.

"I wish I could've met them, too."

"They would have loved you."

"I hope so. Do you think they know how much I love their daughter?"

Allie sighed then murmured, "I do."

They stayed like this a while—silent, serene, content—before Allie unfolded herself and stood. She brushed snow off the top of the stone and rested her hands there briefly before turning back to Chris. "Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me, eh? Of course I wanted to come. Been thinking about it for a while now, but I didn't want to push you if you weren't ready."

"Still, I appreciate it. You've got to be the most generous man I've ever met."

He looked sheepish as his gaze flicked from Allie, to the gravestone, and back. "And you. Your strength inspires me every day."

She entwined her hand with his and tugged him towards her. "I have another request."

"A little demanding, eh?"

Now it was her turn to smile, if a bit sheepishly. "Um . . . well . . ."

"You know I'm teasing you. Right?!" His arms came around her. She nodded but remained quiet, looking just over his shoulder. "What is it, Allie?" When she still said nothing, he tilted her chin up with a finger. "Hey. What?"

Finally, she looked up at him. "I'd like to go to the lighthouse."

His eyebrows rose. "Yeah? You sure?"

"Yes. I need to go back. I don't want my last memory of it to be . . . _him_. And I want you with me . . . this first time, at least. Only if you think you're up for it, though."

"Ready when you are," he replied.

* * *

No other cars were in the lot when Allie pulled up to the Portland Headlight. Clouds had moved in unexpectedly, turning the mild, sunny day grey. They looked at one another. "Ready?" Chris asked.

Allie nodded, "Yes."

Hand-in-hand, they walked up the path and stopped at the porch steps. The wind kicked up a bit, blowing strands of Chris' hair across his face. Allie wore the same green beret she'd had on the last time she was here. Absently, she fingered it as another gust of wind tried to snatch it from her head. Chris shifted his body so he shielded Allie, at least partially, from the elements. She closed her eyes, bowed her head until her forehead touched his chest. His arm wrapped around her and he kissed her temple, her cheek, murmured her name. She looked up and he sealed his lips to hers. Her fingers dug into his jacket, trying to pull herself closer. A sudden explosion of sound made them jump apart. "Holy shit!" Chris exclaimed as the foghorn erupted again. Allie's hand slapped her chest and she gasped. They looked at each other, grins playing across their faces, and laughed.

"Oh, my God!" Allie said between chuckles.

"Guess we're both a little jumpy," Chris remarked.

Allie nodded. She slid her hand into his. They carefully traipsed through the snow along the same path Chris had run all those weeks ago. Allie slipped once, but Chris held tight and she kept her balance. They approached the spot where Allie had been standing when Stephen accosted her. Here she stopped and stared out at the bay—agitated now by the force of the wind and dense fog that crept along the surface. Chris held her from behind, one arm across her collarbone, cheek against her temple. She leaned back into him. And like at the cemetery, no words were needed. They simply stood, supporting one another in silence as the foghorn continued its mournful wail.

Finally, she turned in his arms. His eyes were still focused out at the bay. "You know," he said, "this really is a pretty wild place. The waves. The the water crashing against the rocks."

Allie reached up and touched his cheek, turning him to face her. "It's one of the things I've always loved about it. It looks so serene from the front. But then you come around to the back and see the real power and force of the bay. It's relentless. But it can be so gentle and calm. And it's just so, so beautiful. I don't really have the words to do it justice." She paused a moment, her gaze never leaving his face, and said, "It's like you." She pulled him to her and kissed him with a fierceness that surprised even her. "God, I love you so much," she whispered when their lips finally unlatched, "sometimes it scares me. But I know that you are the most remarkable man I have ever met. And I trust you with my life. With my heart. And I don't ever want to lose you."

He stared at her, his eyes tracing the lines of her face, his fingers following the same path. "You won't lose me. I promise you. No matter what happens, I'm here. Always. I swear I'll keep you safe. And I know you're here for me, too. I love you, Allie. I never thought I'd feel this way about anyone. What I mean is, yeah, I hoped to fall in love. But this—what we have—is more than I ever expected. I love you, my angel."

"I love you, my fox."

They embraced—holding on for both their lives—as the wind swirled around them, and the bay thundered against the rocks below.

* * *

"Thank You"

If the sun refused to shine

I would still be loving you

If mountains crumble to the sea

There would still be you and me

Kind woman, I give you my heart

Kind woman, nothing more

Little drops of rain whispers of the pain

Tears of love lost in the days gone by

Our love is strong, with you there is no wrong

Together we shall roam until we die.

Inspiration is what you are to me

Inspiration—look and see

And so today, my world, it smiles

Your hand in mine, we walk the miles

And thanks to you this will be done

'Cause you to me are the only one

Happiness, no more be sad

Happiness, I am glad

Little drops of rain whispers of the pain

Tears of love lost in the days gone by

Our love is strong, with you there is no wrong

Together we shall roam until we die.

If the sun refused to shine

I would still be loving you

If mountains crumble to the sea

There would still be you and me

Music and lyrics by Jimmy Page and Robert Plant

This version performed by Chris Cornell on Songbook and Chris Cornell Live in Sweden

* * *

"Wild Is the Wind"

Love me, love me, love me,  
Say you do  
Let me fly away  
With you  
For my love is like  
The wind  
And wild is the wind

Give me more  
Than one caress  
Satisfy this  
Hungriness  
Let the wind  
Blow through your heart  
For wild is the wind

You  
Touch me  
I hear the sound  
Of mandolins  
And you  
Kiss me  
And with your kiss  
My life begins  
You're spring to me  
All things  
To me

Don't you know you're  
Life itself

Like a leaf clings  
To the tree  
Oh, my darling,  
Cling to me  
For we're creatures  
Of the wind  
And wild is the wind  
So wild is the wind

And wild is the wind

You  
Touch me  
I hear the sound  
Of mandolins  
You, you, you, you, you,  
Kiss me  
And with your kiss  
My life begins  
You're spring to me  
All things  
To me

Don't you know you're  
Life itself

Like a leaf clings  
To the tree  
Oh, my darling,  
Cling to me  
For we're creatures  
Of the wind  
And wild is the wind  
So wild is the wind

So wild, so wild

is the wind  
So wild

is the wind

Songwriters: Ned Washington / Dimitri Tiomkin

Wild Is the Wind lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Patti Washington Music, Shapiro Bernstein & Co. Inc.

This version performed by Ms. Lauryn Hill on Nina Revisited . . . A Tribute to Nina Simone

* * *

 **Author's notes:**

I do not own the rights to:

"Thank You" by Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, performed by Chris Cornell

"Wild is the Wind" by Ned Washington and Dimitri Tiomkin performed by Ms. Lauryn Hill

"The Velocity of Love" by Suzanne Ciani from Pianissimo II

The Chris Cornell cover of "Thank You" has been Chris' final theme song in my head for a really long time. The first time I heard Cornell's version was on Songbook then later heard a live version from a concert in Sweden (you can find it on YouTube—it's amazing!). His performance takes this Led Zeppelin song to a higher level—so heartfelt and soulful. I thought it fit Chris' feelings about Allie and how devoted he is to her, but also how her strength and courage inspire him.

I had a harder time finding Allie's final theme song. But I recently re-listened to Nina Revisited . . . A Tribute to Nina Simone, and it hit me that Allie's theme song was "Wild is the Wind." And it _had_ to be this version. This amazing song has been recorded numerous times by numerous singers. I believe Johnny Mathis, who recorded it for the movie of the same name back in 1957, was the first. Shirley Horn does a remarkably sweet, heartfelt, low key version in combination with another song, "Come a Little Closer," on her album Here's to Life. Even David Bowie recorded it! The performances by Nina Simone that I've heard include a lovely and mysterious piano that alternates between big crescendos and a soft, almost somber tone, her voice quivering and unsure, but strong. But the cover that touches me the deepest is Ms. Lauryn Hill's passionate, fiery rendition. Her voice never waivers as it runs up and down the scale—sometimes soft, sometimes vibrant. The piano crescendos explode behind her voice. The piece builds and falls back, like the bay on the rocks, and ultimately, ends on a quiet, understated note. It's dramatic, heart rending, and, I think, captures Alice's muted passion for Uncas in LOTM (and Allie's for Chris).

The other thing that seemed to work with these two songs is that they are both covers by artists that hit big in the 1990s. This idea worked for me on a couple of levels. First, as I've mentioned previously, my original story was birthed in the 90s. Second, Chris and Allie are contemporary versions of Uncas and Alice, so it seemed fitting that their final theme songs are contemporary versions of older songs.

" . . . slowly, slowly, with the velocity of love." (Quoted on Suzanne Ciani's album of the same name.) "The Velocity of Love" is the composition I hear in my head for the last scene. The version I imagined playing while Chris and Allie were at the lighthouse is an acoustic rendition from Pianissimo II (you can also see her perform it live, solo piano, on YouTube). It's a beautiful piece that is calm, serene, yet filled with the promise of a future full of love. (It also happens to be the song to which I walked down the aisle at my wedding—so I'm a little partial to it!)

On to the epilogue as Chris and Allie's story comes to an end (for now).


	28. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Upon his release from the hospital, Stephen had been arrested. Allie had decided not to press charges. She felt he was in his own prison, and really, had been for a long time. But now, he couldn't hurt anyone ever again. However, the state of Maine did press charges. Somehow, the lawyer assigned to him forged a deal which allowed him to plead guilty to lesser charges, and the judge released him into the custody of a family member back in Michigan. Apparently, he had a sister who came out to Portland to bring him back home. His father was not doing well and consequently, neither was his mother. He'd wanted to see Allie, but she'd refused. For her, that part of her life was over. Done.

Chris and Allie had fully expected Stephen to at least want compensation for medical expenses incurred, which of course, would be vast. But they'd had their share of the same. In the end, Allie could have brought a civil suit against Stephen, but again, she declined. The last chapter had been written and she only wanted to close the book and move on.

At Cora's suggestion, Allie was seeing a therapist to help her deal with all the crap that had happened since her parents died. And Chris, as a matter of team policy after the kind of trauma and season-ending injury he suffered, had also been going to therapy. They were both healing on several levels.

* * *

Chris and Allie watched Fontaine, dressed in full Blades gear, deliver his lines, ". . . if you, or someone you know is being abused, get help today, contact the National Domestic Abuse Hotline at wwwdotthehotlinedotorg or call 1-800-799-SAFE, that's 1-800-799-7233."

"Cut! That looks good," the director said. "What do you think?" she asked Sandy, the Blades PR director.

Sandy nodded then looked at Chris and Allie, "Well?"

Chris pulled Allie closer to his side, "What do you think, sweetheart? Good enough to call it a day?"

"I think he did great," she replied.

"Well, hell, at least someone appreciates my talent!" Fontaine remarked, "now can I get out from under these lights—they're fucking hot."

When the events at the lighthouse surfaced, the Blades PR Department suggested they use Chris and Allie's experience to launch a campaign against domestic violence. Over the past few months, a series of PSA's were developed, and several articles appeared in local and regional news outlets. At first, Allie was reluctant to come forward, but her conversation with Ahnah, sessions with the therapist, and something that happened with Fontaine, changed her mind.

A few days after the incident, the team was given a brief explanation about what had occurred—they needed to know why Chris would be out for the rest of the season. He was at the meeting when Coach talked to the guys. Most of the them offered Chris empathy, telling him he did the only thing he could, given the situation. No one asked him any questions about Allie or the circumstances that led up to the confrontation. Chris guessed that when it came right down to it, a lot of people were just not comfortable with the issue and didn't really know what to say or do.

Evan and Chris were leaving when Chris heard Le Rat's voice behind him. "Warrior."

Evan shook his head and gave him the finger over his shoulder. Chris stopped and looked back at Le Rat. There was something different in his tone; the usual sarcasm was missing. "Hang on a minute, Otawindeht." Evan turned and took a defensive stance next to Chris, arms folded across his chest, legs apart. Something different in his eyes, too, Chris thought.

Le Rat gazed down, shifted his weight and mumbled something Chris couldn't quite make out. "What?" Chris asked.

Fontaine looked up. "I said, I get it, now."

"Get what?"

"Get why you wanted to kick my ass a couple of weeks ago." Chris stood silent. Waiting. Fontaine cleared his throat. "My dad . . . he used to smack my mom around sometimes . . . not a lot, but a couple of times when he was out of work for a while."

" _Once_ is too many times," Chris replied, his voice deep and steady.

"And you fucking tried to make a joke out of it?" Evan asked, incredulous, "or do you kick the shit out of your girlfriend to keep her in line?"

"Fuck you, Otter!" Fontaine yelled and lunged for Evan.

But Evan was ready for him, raised his arms and shoved him. "Go to hell, asshole," Evan replied as Le Rat stumbled back and fell on his ass.

"Hey, Le Rat," one of their teammates grabbed Fontaine by the arm and lifted him off the floor. "Cool it, man. There's enough shit going on. We're a team. Don't forget that."

"Tell that to Otter."

"He knows. Sometimes you forget."

The silence was deafening as everyone waited for Le Rat's reaction. He shook his arm free and nodded. Evan took up his position beside Chris again. When Le Rat tried to slip by them, Chris asked, "Your mom OK?"

"They got a divorce when I was 10."

"It's good she got away from him."

Fontaine nodded, finally looked up at Chris. "Yeah. Your girlfriend. She gonna be OK?"

"Yeah, Fontaine. She'll be OK."

When the Blades PR department announced the PSA campaign, Fontaine hadn't been the first to volunteer (that was Evan), but he _had_ signed up. It didn't mean he and Chris were best friends or anything, but at least there was an understanding between them. When he saw Allie again, he even apologized for being such a dick at the Blades holiday party, further surprising Chris, and completely shocking Allie.

* * *

It was June, and Chris and Allie were on a plane, headed to Kamloops. Well, technically, they were headed to Calgary, and from there, would fly to Kamloops. Chris was staying for a month. Since doctors recommended he forego his summer UPS job, he had more time to spend with his family and friends. After everything that happened, he felt the need to reconnect. And Craig would be home, too.

Allie was going back to Portland in two weeks. She had 4 weeks vacation from the daycare center, but wanted to save a week around the holidays, as well as give herself the last week of August to get ready—in September, she would be going back to college part-time to finish her degree.

Cora and Nathaniel had set a wedding date for late June of next year. Allie filled Chris in during their long flight. "They're having a small wedding in Santa Fe, where Cora's father lives," Allie said. "They want us there. What do you think?"

"I don't see why we couldn't go. It'll be after hockey season."

"They're also planning a big party back in Portland at the end of the summer— _before_ the season starts again. I guess I'll have to get used to planning things around your hockey schedule," Allie stated.

"You OK with that?" Chris asked, concern filling his eyes.

"Are you kidding?! I'm your biggest fan!" She laughed.

Everything had changed for Allie since Chris strolled into her life. She felt like a new person with so much to look forward to. She smiled more often, felt more serene, and found so many things to be excited and happy about. She slipped her hand into his. He grinned before raising their hands to his lips and laying gentle kisses across her knuckles. Then he opened her palm and placed another kiss in the center. "Thank you," he whispered. A tear trembled down her cheek but as she opened her mouth to reply, Chris touched her lips with the fingers of his other hand. "Don't say anything, my angel. Just remember, we're here for each other. Together. Always."

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

So Chris and Allie's story has come to an end. As I mentioned before, I do have a few one-shots planned—just not sure how soon I'll get to them.

I cannot thank you all enough for your generous support and encouragement over these couple of years. I never expected to finish this story, let alone rewrite it as a contemporary LOTM piece! I still go back to the amazing FF writers on this site who originally inspired me—thank you! And to every single reader of BDL, whether you posted comments or not, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You kept me going. To those of you who did post comments, PM, and otherwise communicate, it means the world to me that you took time out of your busy lives, not only to read, but to let me know what you thought about the characters, the situations, and offer encouragement. And all of you who beta read various sections—all I can say is I am so grateful. What I'm saying here feels so lame, but truly, this has been an amazing experience for me. I've made new friends and found fellow LOTM fans (especially since, for YEARS, I thought I was the only Uncas and Alice shipper out there!) that I never expected to discover! You all rock!


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